That's Not My Name
by MarksandSpence
Summary: Eric attempts to cope with the loss of his Maker and the disappointment of his unrequited fascination with Sookie by adding to his family. Things do not go as planned.
1. Chapter 1

**Title:** That's Not My Name

*Warning, this is predominantly a True Blood fic, with some crossover BtVS elements. For some reason, would not allow me to specify True Blood as primary.

**Setting:** Post-Season 3/Beginning of Season 4, then alternate universe (because frankly, I **hated** season 4 and amnesia Eric). Sookie is back from faerie land, Bill is King, Eric has bought Sookie's house, but after she rejects his offer to be 'his', he has backed off somewhat. Sookie's relationship with Bill is complicated and she has come clean to Eric that she is still in love with him (Bill), despite everything, which is met with much incomprehension from Eric (and subsequent derision). They still interact frequently, as before. Although this has some elements of a BtVS crossover, the canon will follow mostly the True Blood version of vampires, werewolves, etc. Prior knowledge of BtVS is not required. For those who care, in the BtVS universe, the setting is ~many years post-Angel. Spike was rescued in the final battle by someone who has taken him to the east coast (to say more would be to spoil you).

**Classification:** Alternate Universe, Crossover, OC

**Main Characters: **Eric, Pam, OC, Sookie, Spike, Alcide with appearances of most other universe characters.

**Rating:** M/NC17 (strong language, adult themes, adult situations, sex)

**Summary**: Eric attempts to cope with the loss of his Maker and the disappointment of his unrequited fascination with Sookie by adding to his family. Things do not go as planned.

**Disclaimer:** I have not created the True Blood (credit to Charlaine Harris & Alan Ball) or BtVS universe (credit to Joss Whedon) and do not have any claim on the characters other than the ones I have added to the mix. Full disclosure, I have NOT read the book series by Charlaine Harris and so my depiction of the characters involved are based entirely on the HBO Original Series, True Blood.

**Author:** Mad

**Preface. **As many of you know from my prior works, I always create new characters and this story is no exception. And as with the others, one of these new characters is central to the story. It will be long and epic and not told linearly, so not for the weak of heart. I see it as an origin story. All that said, although I feel the OC is interesting in her own right, my main purpose is to use her to illuminate and explore the character of Eric Northman. As well as some fun stuff about vampire families and love and loss and memory, etc. etc. There will be some smut, but I would say it is not central to the story. You have been warned!

**That's Not My Name**

Chapter 1

In the basement of _Fangtasia,_ a bloodied man is chained to a chair, a low growl seeping from his chest at intervals. Eric Northman stands a few feet away, bored but with agitation bubbling. Sookie Stackhouse sits uncomfortably in a folding chair near the stairs.

"Can we hurry this up?" Eric glances at his watch "I have someplace to be."

"Where are you going? Doesn't Fangtasia open in, like, half an hour?", Sookie snits.

"We don't open until midnight. Mani-pedi Tuesdays."

"Seriously?"

"Pam's already at the salon."

"Isn't this a tiny bit more important than your toes?"

"Fingers _and_ toes." He wiggles his hands to illustrate.

The man in the chair starts to giggle.

"Bill asked me to help you tonight, so I figure this has to be a big deal. I just think we ought to stay until we know something."

"If _Bill_ thinks it is important…" Eric responds with implied eye roll.

Eric walks up to the man, grabs his wrist and smashes his hand with his own, quickly followed by a crushing foot stomp. The man cries out, the pain inducing a transient transformation from man to wolf and back again. Sookie flinches.

"Was that really necessary?"

"It has been suggested that I may have anger issues. Still…" Looking more pointedly at the man in the chair.

"What is your business here?"

"You have no authority….", the man spits.

"Oh, I think I _do_."

Sookie hears a passing thought: _perhaps __**he**__ does._

"I've broken no laws."

Sookie hears: _just enough._

"In the last week, you have been detained by three sheriffs in Louisiana for _disruptive _behavior."

"'not from around here. Just feeling my way." The man smirks. "Perhaps you can recommend an anger management class."

Eric smashes his other hand. The man stifles a cry.

"You are gathering information. Why?"

"Do you always do what you are told?"

"What?"

"By your _King_.", the man spits.

Sookie hears: _puppet, abomination, fool._

Sookie blurts: "King Bill?"

Eric bristles, inadvertently. The man smiles with bloody teeth. Eric regains his composure and moves aggressively toward the man.

"Who sent you?" Eric insists with more focus.

Sookie hears: _The one who will reclaim._

Eric grabs the man's hair, flashes his fangs in his face in an attempt to glamour him. Before Eric utters a word, the man laughs. The rage builds in Eric's face and just as he moves forward to attack, something overcomes him. His expression softens, fangs retract and he falls backward in a slump.

Sookie leaps up from her chair, and with a tone of annoyance mixed with fear says "Eric? Are you okay?"

She glances nervously over to the man in the chair, who smirks before transforming into a small snake and slithering into the darkness. What the?

She mumbles, confused "I thought he was a werewolf."

She turns back to Eric, wanting to complain that their prisoner has escaped and how Eric wasn't taking it seriously enough and Bill would be mad. But when she sees him, she softens. He has balanced himself by grabbling hold of the stairs and is sliding down into a sitting position, his expression now more composed. The prisoner didn't do this.

"What happened?", she asks quietly, recognizing something in his distracted gaze.

He turns his head to look at her, taking a moment before responding, forgetting for a moment that she could not understand.

"I…I lost something. Someone."

Sookie's eyes widen. "Pam?"

"What? No." He shakes his head, dismissively. _Could be worse_.

She reluctantly puts her hand on his shoulder. He looks deflated, small.

"Who?"

He regains enough composure to remember his privacy.

"I wish to be alone."

"We'll talk about the wolf-guy, er, shifter that just escaped later, I guess."

"Who?"

"Yeah. Why don't you come by Merlott's when you are up to it. I got the late shift tomorrow night."

She starts to walk slowly up the stairs.

"Sookie?"

"Yeah?"

"Pam is at Tooth and Nail on Market St. Tell her I will not be joining her this evening."

The resignation in his voice stops her from retorting something about her not being his personal assistant and/or why can't he just use his cell phone or that psychic vampire thing that makers and offspring do.

"Sure."

_**Flashback: Eight Months Earlier**_

A woman walks briskly down a city street, her arms crossed in front, holding together a dark canvas coat. Rain has drenched her hair and she periodically brushes the back of her hand across her brow, then the side of her eye, wiping away moisture. Her eyes are narrowed, but glimpses of pink flash when she looks up from the pavement to check her path. She turns a corner and seems relieved to see the light of a diner up ahead, with a sign flashing "Charlie's Diner: Open 24 Hours". She takes three quicker steps, then stops abruptly for a second, closes her eyes and resumes more a level, measured pace. When she is about ten meters from the entrance, a tall figure appears in front of her. She glances up, sees his face, then quickly lets her eyes drop again before stopping. It's Eric. Of course she knew, even before. She exhales, looks to the side, clenching her jaw in preparation. Without meeting his gaze, she says loudly to compete with the rain,

"That was quick. Thought I might have another hour or two."

She looks up at him cautiously. He looks softer, somehow, a hint of confusion hidden in the confidence. She shakes off her mind's interest.

He scans her face and the visible parts of her body with concern.

"Are you burned?" He pauses briefly before adding impatiently "How did you leave?"

She winces, closes her eyes, resolved.

"Leave us alone."

He appears bemused, his eyes focused unwaveringly on her face.

His response is dismissive. "Ridiculous."

"You got your time. We're _done_ now", she states with an unsure finality.

"Everything is different." He soothes.

"No, it's _not_." Her voice starts to crack.

He smirks, knowingly.

"It is not unusual to be confused."

Before he can say more, she starts to walk past him and says in a sort of shouting whisper,

"I can't have this conversation now."

The throbbing of her head makes it difficult to think clearly. She fears losing control of the situation. Everything depends on that not happening.

He grabs her arm to prevent her from leaving. Instead of tensing, as was her intention, she feels her arm go limp, almost melting into his grip.

"Peia. Do _not_ walk away from me."

She looks up at him, engaging his stare.

_This won't go away on its own. The conversation has to happen._

"Fine. If you want to talk, come in with me. I need to get something to eat."

The urgency of her words makes Eric smile.

She shakes her head strides purposefully into the diner. She chooses a booth with an accessible light, away from the jukebox, which is currently blaring 70's pop music. Before sitting, she reaches up and twists the bulb until the brightness is gone. Eric follows her to the booth and sits across from her, never letting his eyes leave her face.

Eric looks as if he is about to say something and Peia intercedes with a wild-eyed look.

"Shhhh. Do _not_ say anything. Just wait." She wipes the moisture from her face.

Eric frowns, looking vaguely annoyed.

The middle-aged waitress, wearing a ridiculous Farrah Fawcett wig, checks her watch and saunters over. She glances around to the other tables before pulling out her order pad. There are about four other tables occupied. One group is getting up to leave. The other three tables with customers have either a couple of coffee cups or an empty bottle of True Blood on the table.

"Welcome to Charlie's Diner. I'll be your angel tonight. What can I get you folks?"

Peia scans the menu.

"I'd like a basket of onion rings, a spinach salad – large, and uh…honestly, what are your steaks like? Or am I better off with the Bosley Burger?"

The waitress glances back to the kitchen nervously, then gives a subtle head shake. She continues in a louder-than-necessary voice.

"And how would you like your Bosley Burger?"

"Medium rare. And can I get an extra pattie?"

"Sure. Anything else?"

"Do you have Vitamin Water?"

"Just soda, juice or milk."

"Water, please."

"Anything for you, sir?"

Eric just gives her a look. She thins her lips knowingly, and turns back to Peia.

"I'll get that right out to you." She starts to walk away, but stops and turns around. The girl just looks so darn pale! "You know, Darlin', there's a convenience store across the street. If you want to get yourself some of that Gatorade and bring it in, I won't pay it no mind."

"Thanks." Peia offers a pained smile to the waitress.

Eric casually taps his fingers on the table, waiting. He knows how this is going to end, but is happy to let her control the pace.

Not wanting to spend any more time with Eric than is necessary, Peia suggests

"Why don't you make yourself useful and go get me some Gatorade."

Eric starts to shake his head.

"This is a waste of time. You wo…"

"Please?" She says with just enough genuine need to send him off with only a small huff.

"Fine."

"Orange if they have it." She calls after him. "Anything but blue" She adds.

By the time Eric returns, Peia is devouring the food on her plate. He plops himself down on the other side of the booth after placing the tall bottle of orange Gatorade on the table. He watches her eat for a minute, his disgust showing clearly.

He offers, chirpily "And look, I kept the bag. Which you will be needing in a minute."

She glares at him defiantly as she unscrews the top of the bottle and starts chugging the contents. After a few seconds, Eric starts to look agitated and grabs it away from her like an annoyed parent.

"You are going to make yourself sick. And I loathe being around sick people."

"Then go the fuck away."

A twinge of guilt flashes across Eric's face.

"I understand that you are upset. We were supposed to be together when you woke up. I am truly sorry. I do not know what went wrong."

"What went wrong?" She repeats this back to him, incredulously, keeping her tone low but seething.

"WHAT WENT WRONG? So waking up naked underground in total blackness surrounded by dirt and bugs, unable to breathe - that was the _good_ part of the plan? That was the part of the plan that went right?"

"Yes. As it should be."

She is getting visibly upset, cheeks flushed, nostrils flared.

"Look at me Eric. Look at me. What am I doing right now?"

She is breathing heavily, blowing air out through her nose like a wild bull.

Eric brushes this aside.

"You can stop that now – it is just a reflex. Many new…"

"You don't get it. _Listen_."

But before he hears her, before he lets his senses focus, he finds his eyes fixating on little balls of water forming on Peia's forehead. _Funny, we've been inside out of the rain for long enough…_

"Eric." She grabs his hand in frustration and holds it to her neck.

He pulls it away as if he has just touched fire. Sweat. She is sweating. She is hot, feverish. The sound is suddenly deafening — her heart beating, loudly. Unusually hard, pushing blood angrily through her body. She is human. Still. He is genuinely surprised, confused. How did he not sense it before? It was familiar. How could it be both?

She is looking at him intently now, trying to gauge his reaction. Once she sees that her point is made, she says

"It didn't work. What you tried to do, it didn't work."

She resumes eating while Eric sits, stunned. Her head is still throbbing, but the food is having its intended effect. The fog is starting to lift. Taking advantage of his silence, she continues between bites,

"The way I see it, you were being impulsive. Which I don't think is something you are normally, though I can't say that I really know. Just based on the short time we've…known each other. I just don't think this is something you would typically do on a whim. So you got a bit carried away for whatever reason – maybe I had a bit of something in my system that impaired your judgment. I have been known to dabble. But see now, instead of being stuck, reminded every day of that night you weren't thinking straight, now, like magic you've got a 'get out of jail free card'. Or rather, _not_ like magic, I suppose. Put simply, it didn't work. You're off the hook. We go our separate ways and no one is the wiser. No one needs to know. Win win."

Peia looks up from her food. The music has stopped. Good for her head, but…

"Where is our waitress?"

She hears a door slam in the back, behind the kitchen. Then the sound of a metal chain, as the lights go out.

"What's happening?"

Eric looks around the diner, taking in the scene.

"Only vampires are left in here."

Suddenly a line of fire moves quickly from the kitchen down through the center tables, following a stream of something flammable. One of the vampires at the table across the room, jumps up, his pant leg in flames.

Eric shakes his head, angrily. "I thought we were done with this shit." He glances at the kitchen, hears something. He orders,

"Get down."

He pulls Peia onto the floor just as a small bomb explodes in the kitchen, sending debris into the dining area over their heads.

"What the fuck?" Peia exclaims.

"We have to get out of here."

Eric sees the other vampires struggling with the door. A large silver chain is holding it shut and a fine silver mesh is covering the few windows. He jumps upwards, crashing through the ceiling. Peia crawls over to the door, pushing away the panicking vampires. She pulls at the door – the chain is thick. She looks back over her shoulder, wondering where Eric is. The smoke is starting to make her eyes sting and throat burn. She sees Eric around the front, unable to approach the door because of the silver. Not thinking, she tries to kick the door in. Her foot goes straight through the thick glass, but the door doesn't open. She needs to break the chain. She looks around for a lever, but not seeing anything, just shrugs and lifts her leg up and kicks straight at the door handle as hard as she can. The chain breaks apart instantly and the door flies open. She runs out and pulls the silver off the windows and clears a path. The other vampires flee. She runs quickly away, turning back to see the diner going up in flames.

She has a hard coughing fit, just as Eric finds her. She grabs her head, wincing.

"Are you alright?"

She wants to retort "define alright", but instead just nods, her palms still pressed against her temples.

"That was not particularly human of you." Eric notes, with his characteristic pleased with himself smirk.

"Just hit a weak spot."

"That chain must have weighed 100 pounds and you threw it like a piece of string."

"Adrenaline is an amazing thing."

"Somethings happened. You _need_ me."

"No. _No_. I….Just leave us alone."

"You know I will not."

"Weren't you listening in there? Win win?"

Pam worried that he was being impulsive, too. He _could_ walk away. But it feels right. Complete again.

She continues, "Just "release me" or whatever and lets be done with it."

"It would be irresponsible to release this soon."

"What, so that's a real thing? I totally just made it up."

Eric perks up, realizing something.

"So if it didn't work, then what do you need to be released from?" After a quick pause, he continues, "You feel it too."

Yes. But that just makes her angry, horrified and more determined to get away.

"What I _feel_ is the horror of waking up with dirt up my goddamned nostrils, not knowing which way to dig in the darkness. I have _never_ been so terrified. And that is saying something, let me tell you. And I have such a headache right now – searing, skull crushing pain. All because of you."

"It was not supposed to be like that."

"Well it was." Hot tears are streaming down her sweaty face. "How could you not have known?"

"Known what exactly?"

"That it probably wouldn't work. That I'm not…typical."

Off of his confused look, she continues,

"I told you I was 64. Do I look like a typical 64 year old to you?"

He frowns and responds honestly.

"Human chronology means little to me."

"You should never have tried."

"And yet it is done. You will come back to Shreveport with me and we will figure out what happened."

"I don't care what happened. _Nothing_ happened. I'm not going anywhere with you."

"But I wish it, so you must. We are family."

"I have zero interest whatsoever in joining your little vampire harem, sorry. Only I'm not sorry at all. Vampire hoochie is frankly _not_ one of my career goals."

"You have seen too many movies. My family is small." He muses to himself: _Is Pam a hoochie? She would likely not object to that classification._

Peia is surprised by how genuine he appears. She softens her tone a bit.

"Listen, I get that you think I should be flattered, right? A powerful guy like you – handsome in that tall, Nordic way that honestly isn't really my thing – giving me the opportunity of a lifetime and all that. Maybe I should be. But I don't want it."

She pauses a moment, looking at him straight for the first time.

"I'm not rejecting you. I don't even see you."

"But you _feel_ me. My blood runs through your veins now."

"I am in love with someone else." Frustrated by what she perceives as his feigned ignorance, she reminds him "And you know that."

"I have no interest in your love."

She frowns, confused. Taking a different approach, she insists,

"We had a deal."

"The deal was invalid. You were never _his_."

"You are seriously going to re-neg on some kind of vampire technicality? Fuck. Off. You had no right."

"You have no obligation to him. Neither do I."

"It's not about obligation. How can you not understand this? He is everything to me. I love him."

"Humans throw that word around so much– I think it means nothing. I offer you more."

"You have no idea. I'm not some 20 year old dimwit with her first boyfriend. I have lived a life already and I can tell you that I have never felt this way. I have never loved anyone the way I love him."

The moment the words leave her lips, she involuntarily lifts her hand to her mouth, as if mortified by this confession. Thoughts streak through her brain _He's dead. He can't hear. I'm so sorry. _In an instant, she pulls herself together, takes a deep breath and remembers what she is doing here.

"Family, Peia. Only family lasts forever."

"Oh, just shut up already." She squints her eyes – the headache is worse. She is burning up with fever.

Eric looks concerned. He moves toward her.

"Let me help you."

"Don't touch me." She snaps, reeling away.

In a soft, but steady tone, he asks again,

"Come with me. You gave him the antidote, right? He will be fine. Where is he now?"

"Back at the hotel. Getting room service, I hope."

"He can take care of himself now. And if what Pam says about him is true, he will not need any help once he gets his memory back. He has quite a reputation."

"How will he get his memory back without my help?"

"Spike's a big boy."

She shakes her head too vigorously, then winces.

"Is she dead?"

Damn. He forgot all about that and feels a twinge of guilt, as now he is in violation of their agreement.

"I can make the call now if you wish."

She retorts, feeling more confident.

"This is what is going to happen. You are going to go back to that shit-hole town of yours and forget all about this. You are going to let us go on our way, without any trouble."

"No. I will not forget."

She thinks for a minute, and then responds.

"You're a Sheriff. That means there must be some sort of hierarchy – some kind of vampire judicial hierarchy. I'd bet there is a judge or a magistrate or someone above you. No doubt Spike will know, if I help him remember. I'll take our deal to him. I'd bet anything there is some big rule against taking another vampire's human and trying to turn her. Some punishable rule and you know Spike would press charges. The fact that you made the deal in the first place incriminates you."

She can tell by the look on his face that she is on to something real. Eric does not look pleased. She adds,

"Pam was witness. An accomplice?"

Eric just shakes his head. He cannot afford to bring trouble down on his house right now. Everything is so tenuous. Bill would jump at any chance to bring them down. This can wait. He has all the time in the world.

"Fine. You can go." With an almost paternal concern he continues "When Spike gets his memory back, he _will_ go back to his Maker. Family trumps all."

"We'll see."

She has considered this, along with every other possible result. Doesn't matter.

"You know where to find me."

She just stares at him for a moment, frowning. As she turns to go, he vamprushes up to her, kissing her on the forehead before she even has a chance to react. She pulls away and starts running fast. When she turns a corner, finally out of his line of vision, she stops. She touches the spot on her forehead where he kissed her, but the rain has washed away the tiny spot of blood that had been there. In spite of herself, she smiles. Her headache is gone. The freedom from pain makes her euphoric. She heads off again, the buoyancy of her natural step restored.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

In the office of Fangtasia, Eric is sitting in a chair with a barber's apron wrapped around his neck. Pam is standing behind, cutting his hair.

"Are you sure you don't want me to foil it? It's looking pretty drab."

"Maybe tomorrow. It's almost daylight."

"Okay. But you are getting dangerously close to looking German."

"I appreciate your concern."

The phone rings. Pam walks over to answer it while Eric pulls off the apron and runs his fingers through his still damp hair.

"Hello?" Pam frowns, disappointedly "Oh, Sookie. Let me check."

She glances over to Eric, who shakes his head.

"Not tonight. I could make something up, but…yeah. Uhuh. He's been in a foul mood all week, so I'm not going to push it. Bye now."

Pam hangs up the phone and walks back over to the chair, brushing off a few stray hairs from Eric's neck.

"As much as I hate to say it, you _will_ have to talk to her at some point. She might send Bill."

He offers his familiar refrain, "I will get to it. Maybe tomorrow."

Hearing the sadness in his voice, she rests her head on his shoulder. He tilts his head to touch hers.

"Lets go home." He says.

"Why don't you let me grab us some take-out? Chinese? There's an adorable new delivery girl at Changs."

"Maybe tomorrow."

Pam looks concerned, but does not push it. They pack up their things and head out the door.

Some time later, they arrive at the front of a modern townhouse. Pam unlocks the front door and they walk through. In front of them are two doors – one at the top of a short flight of stairs and one just off to the left. As soon as they walk into the foyer, Eric glances up to the door in front – it is not quite closed. He glances back at Pam.

She says, in mock horror, "Are we being robbed?"

Eric deadpans, "Why get take-out when you can have delivery?"

As he approaches the door, he sniffs the air. Blood. Not fresh. Lots of it. His expression changes and he vamprushes through the door, Pam right behind. He stops in front of the sofa. There he sees a figure lying asleep, covered in a towel from his bathroom. On the coffee table, there is a bag stuffed sloppily with a blood-soaked shirt and pants. Eric's eyes widen as he walks closer and gently tugs at the towel to reveal the figure underneath, clothed in just underwear.

"Peia." He whispers in disbelief.

"I thought you said she was dead."

"She is just full of surprises."

"She looks pretty beat-up." Pam responds, noticing her arm in a sling, a healing gash in her side and the shallow breathing of someone who has broken ribs.

Eric cannot suppress a small smile.

He moves closer to her, kneeling next to the couch. He brushes the hair away from her face. Her forehead is hot, like the last time. He looks up at Pam.

"I've got this." Indicating that she should go.

Pam nods, but with a concerned frown.

"I'll be downstairs if you need me."

Eric acknowledges with a quick glance.

He gently pushes his arms underneath Peia's body, then lifts her up. She is completely limp. He carries her toward a door on the other side of the room. He fumbles for a second key to this door, unlocks it and moves through the entrance. The motion causes Peia to stir. She mumbles, weakly,

"Can I stay here for a while?"

"As long as you like." He assures.

Inside this room is a large, king-sized bed with a black duvet and red satin sheets. He pulls back the duvet and lays her gently down. She has drifted off to sleep again. He quickly undresses and climbs in the bed next to her. He runs his hands over her shoulders and then gently moves her head to wake her. She blinks her eyes.

He whispers, "Peia, I have to pop your shoulder back in. Blood can only do so much. It is going to be painful."

She nods her understanding. He turns her on her side and positions himself behind her for support, his face against hers. As softly and quickly as he can, he wraps his hand around her exposed upper arm and then forcefully shoves the bone back into the socket. She only whimpers, but he feels the hot tears begin streaming down her cheek. He pulls back slightly, causing her to roll toward him onto her back. He releases his fangs and is about to bite his wrist when she realizes what he is going.

"No." She whispers.

"I want to help you." He responds, concerned.

She attempts a small smile of reassurance. Talking is painful, so she says only what she has to.

"I am healing. I want to know how long it will take on my own."

He finds himself unable to go against her wishes. He retracts his fangs and moves in closer, pressing the skin of his chest against her back. She lets him envelop her – the points of contact tingle with recognition. It feels extraordinary. It feels like home. Before she lets herself drift off to sleep, she asks meekly through tears,

"Can you take my headache away again?"

He smiles, happy to be asked. He releases his fangs just long enough to graze the surface of his own tongue, opening up a small wound. He moves his head around just far enough to kiss her temple, letting his tongue place a few drops of his blood onto her skin. By the time he removes his lips, the wound is healed, her headache is gone. They sleep.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

Peia does not get out of bed the next night. She sleeps, recovering, her physical wounds healing quickly. She has not spoken much, her other wounds left undescribed. Eric has no incentive to rush her. She is home. That is all he cares about for now. On the second night, he is summoned by Bill to discuss the interloper who escaped his watch last week. He posts a guard to ensure Peia's safety before leaving her alone in his apartment.

The details of the meeting between himself and Bill (and of course, Sookie) are unimportant. Eric is obliging in an effort to keep his time commitment short. He and Bill agree to call a meeting of the Louisiana sheriffs to compare notes next week. The AVL (via Nan) seems particularly concerned with the situation, suspecting the man works for one of the more powerful monarchs out west. There have been some murmurings of discontent with the ouster of the old monarchs and installment of the new and there is always the possibility of a power-grab as surrounding monarchs may attempt to take advantage of the current instability.

Leaving the meeting, Sookie feels compelled to comment on Eric's improved mood.

"I almost thought I might have seen you smile in there."

"Unlikely."

"Ok, maybe not a smile exactly, but definitely a far cry from your usual scowl."

"You are confusing me with Bill. He scowls. And smiles. I stick to the middle ground of mildly irritated or vaguely bemused."

"See, you are talking to me instead of just sulking. That's an improvement. And you got your hair cut."

"I do not sulk either. You pay way too much attention to the people around you."

"I'm a waitress. It's part of the job."

Eric is about to take off, ending the conversation, but hesitates a moment.

"How often do humans need to eat?"

"What?"

"How often do you eat? I cannot recall such details." He repeats, irritated that she did not answer him the first time.

"Depends. Three times a day. Plus snacks. Why?"

He thinks for a minute, then moves to pull out his wallet.

"You need to bring some human food to my house."

"I don't _need_ to do anything. I've got to get back to work and finish my shift."

"Are you not a waitress? Is it not your job to bring food?" He enjoys winding her up a bit.

"Psh. Well, yeah. But not to _you_. I mean, not to your house."

"Come after your shift." Handing her a card from his wallet. "Here is my address."

"Do you ever ask for anything nicely?"

He simply pulls out a few $100 bills from his wallet.

"I'll give you $300. You can keep the change."

"This isn't for one of your stripper "friends", is it? And why can't she get her own food? Oh my God, is she tied up in your basement? Ech." She looks disgusted, remembering the last time he walked in on him in the basement of Fangtasia.

"She is not a stripper."

"Why don't you get Ginger to do it?"

"I am not sure Ginger eats solid food. Besides, I will not return to Fangtasia tonight."

Sookie looks at the card. Okay, so maybe she is a little curious to see where he lives.

"This is totally out of my way."

"Fine. $500."

She smiles, grabbing it out of his hand.

"Be there at 2:30am. Make it something nice."

"Whatever. Okay."

Sookie trots off and Eric shoots up into the air, flying back to his house. He arrives, dismisses the guard and heads straight into the bedroom. Peia is half asleep. Eric sits on the edge of the bed, reaches over and touches her head. Her fever is gone, her body still healing. She turns to face him and gives a weak smile.

"You need a bath." He states, decisively.

"Subtle."

"Wait here."

While he is gone, Peia inhales once or twice and shrugs. _Yep, I totally smell._

He comes back in a few minutes, picks her up and carries her to the bathroom. There, a claw foot tub full of steaming, bubbly water awaits. He sets her down standing, then strips and gets in. She follows, still a bit unsteady. The water feels good. Her skin against his feels exquisite. She sits on his lap, her back to him, his arms wrapped around her shoulders at one end of the tub. After a few minutes, Eric whispers in her ear.

"I thought I felt you die."

"I did. They tased me and my heart stopped. I don't even know how long I was out."

"Who are _they_?"

"Can I tell you another time?" She asks, genuinely. If he were to insist, she would tell him everything.

"Whenever." He responds without sarcasm.

"I am in a bit of trouble. The one who caused all the damage? He is a sheriff in California."

"He is not part of the _they_?"

"No. That's a whole different thing." Feeling a bit defensive, she tries to clarify.

"I didn't go looking for it. Honestly, I just…" Her voice trails off.

"Few sheriffs would dare confront me directly."

He is pleased to feel her body relax. She rests her head back against his shoulder. They can discuss the details another time.

Without displacing her, he reaches over the tub to get a small glass pitcher. He fills it with water and begins to pour it over her hair. She closes her eyes as the water seeps through to her scalp and down her neck. Next he slowly and methodically massages some shampoo into her mid-length hair. The rhythmic touch of his fingers on her scalp nearly puts her to sleep. She feels like she is floating. Safe.

Suddenly, a noise jolts her. A doorbell. Before she registers what that means, Eric has slipped out from underneath her and is hastily putting on a robe while walking out the door of the bathroom. She sinks back into the water, which now feels uncomfortably hot and oddly stifling.

Eric reaches the door just as Sookie is ringing the bell a second time. He opens the door a few inches to find Sookie gawking at the foyer, looking as perky as ever. Seeing him, she lifts up the bag and gives it a bit of a wave.

"Got your food."

"Thank you."

He reaches for the bag but she has since stepped back.

"You know how hard it is to find decent food in the middle of the night in this town? I had to call, like, ten different places to even get someone on the phone. I literally had to beg the nice Thai lady at Penang Chaou to let me put an order in."

"Could you not have just asked Lafayette to prepare something?"

"I guess. But the way you said "something nice" made me think you weren't lookin' for southern cooking. Or fried food. In my book "something nice" usually involves vegetables. Or least sauce that isn't made from chicken drippins! Guess maybe I was reading more into that than I should have, but now done is done. Thai!"

He shakes his head at her chattiness and grabs the bag. She does not let go immediately, obviously trying to peer inside the door. Just as he gets the bag from her and is pushing the door closed, a voice from behind.

"Eric, you got me food?" Peia asks, genuinely surprised. She walks forward and takes the bag from him looking pleased. There is a small table near the door, which she heads towards.

"Peia?", Sookie blurts, surprised. "I didn't know you were back in town!"

She pushes her way through the door, completely ignoring Eric's glare.

"Sookie, right?", Peia responds quietly as she sits in a chair by the table and starts unpacking the bag.

"Yes. Oh my god, I have to call Jessica. She will be so excited. We just loved your latest. Do you need us to do another fundraiser? 'Cause we could totally do that again. You've got fans here, for sure. Especially now."

She puts her hands to her chest before continuing.

"Oh, and the story. Just wonderful. It made my cry so hard I almost burst a blood vessel in my eye. It was like a tissue box exploded in my house!"

Peia smiles and lets out a little laugh, before saying dryly "Is that right?"

Sensing Peia's skepticism, "What?"

"I appreciate the kind words, but honestly you seem like the type who cries at Hallmark commercials."

She responds, defensively "Sometimes they are very sad."

Peia starts eagerly dishing out food.

Eric offers, "Pam cried."

Both Sookie and Peia together, "What?"

"She did not." Peia retorts, skeptical.

Eric shrugs. "I found her hunched over the computer in the office one night, your story on the screen. She claimed she had something in her eye, but that does not really happen to vampires."

"Wow." Sookie remarks as she furrows her brow, trying to figure out what event could make Pam emotional.

"I think I may have to re-evaluate my writing skills."

"Mad skills if you can get Pam to cry."

Sookie and Peia exchange a look. Surely Pam cried at a part of the story that was not meant to evoke tears. Puzzling.

"Do not tell her I told you. She would make my life hell."

They nod in agreement. Peia looks back to the food and starts shoveling it in.

After a moment, Sookie truly takes in the scene. Eric is in a robe, quite obviously naked underneath. Peia is in just a shirt – one of his, her hair only towel dry. Her limbs still mildly discolored from bruising.

"Wait a minute. What are you doing here with Eric?"

Peia slows her chewing, trying hard not to appear flustered by the question.

Sookie is immediately hit with a wall of emotion – it feels like someone has punched her hard in the stomach. She subtly grabs hold of the door to stabilize herself, confused for just a moment about the source. Until she hears the frantic refrain, _Please_ _don't ask about Spike. Please don't ask about Spike. _The thoughts slice through the barriers she works hard to maintain to prevent the constant barrage. She tries to reconcile the intensity of the emotion with the calm woman sitting before her and sees only a tiny tremor in the hand resting passively on the table.

"Just visiting", Peia responds in as neutral a tone as she can manage.

Still curious, but feeling a twinge of pity, Sookie decides to hold her tongue. At least until Peia is alone.

Eric, easily reading the change in Sookie's countenance and interpreting what it must mean, starts herding her toward the door.

"Is it not past your bedtime?"

"Uh, I guess." She does not move, still a bit flustered and unsure.

"Thank you for bringing food." Eric states with finality.

"Yeah, sure, no problem."

He practically pushes her through the doorway. As he is closing the door on her back, she turns her head slightly and says,

"Stop by Merlott's whenever you want. Jessica and I are both there most nights."

Peia smiles weakly, but does not respond.

Eric returns to the table, crinkling up his nose at the strong odor of the food. Peia takes a few more bites, but her appetite has gone. Somehow, having a witness makes the situation too final. She is not sure.

"I'm tired. I'd like to go back to bed now."

Eric nods. She attempts a genuine smile in his direction as she slowly pulls herself up from the chair.

"I'll be better soon," she says, failing to sound sure.

"Soon." He repeats.

She nods and leaves the room. He finds a plastic bag, places the tubs of food in, ties it up and tosses it out the door.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

A few days pass. Peia rarely leaves the bed and has not left the townhouse. During the days, when Eric is next to her, she makes mental plans for getting up and out. _Tomorrow night, I'll go for a walk. Tomorrow, I'll go get a coffee. _But once he has gone off to Fangtasia, the air feels too thick, the bed too clingy. It feels as if spider silk is attached to her arms and shoulders and then to the bed frame – she can stretch it to reach the bath, the kitchen, but it never breaks. It never lets go and the further she moves, the stronger the pull to return. Eric has been remarkably patient. He asks no questions, always waiting for her to talk, to want to get up. Days must pass quickly for someone who has endured hundreds of thousands of them. She has not wanted to talk, to tell him the story. She will. As soon as she goes for that walk. As soon as she can think clearly again.

"I am going to go out today." She says, as if these words were not unusual. "Could you leave a key for me?"

Without saying a word, Eric reaches for the pants he has just taken off. He fishes in the pocket and pulls out a set of keys. Freeing one from the ring, he says,

"The key is for the outer door. You will need a swipe card for the inner."

He pulls out his wallet and tosses a card on the bedside table.

"You will not go far?"

She shakes her head. _Incapable_, she thinks.

"If you wait until dusk, I can accompany you." He offers, hopefully. He is still skeptical, but encouraged that she is attempting plans.

"I'd like to see the sun. Vitamin D and all that."

"You should not be without me when night falls."

He has not yet gotten the information he needs to assess how much danger she is in from this sheriff in California.

She nods. Good thing he does not know that the '_they_' she referred to before are not limited by sunlight. Unlikely that they would have tracked her after everything that happened. Spike would see to that, certainly. She shakes her head. _But can I be sure?_

She opens her eyes a few hours later, feeling strong. She extricates herself from Eric's arms, sits up and reaches for the keys on the bedside table. The spider silk is gone, her movement toward the door unimpeded. She is careful to slip through the door quickly, in case they forgot to close any of the outer blinds last night. She locates the large handbag she brought with her from California, tucked neatly in the closet by the door. Inside is a wallet, a small wooden box, a canvass bag containing some silver chains and a few other bits and bobs, including an athletic bra and underwear. She pulls these on, then frowns at the only other clothes she brought with her – the ones she wore _that night_. She forages through a nearby laundry basket, pulling out a pair of Eric's track pants. _Just need a scissors. _She eventually cobbles together an outfit and heads out the door.

She squints at the sun for the first few steps, but then feels her eyes adjust and relax. The air is humid, but reasonably cool for Louisiana. The afternoon haze keeps the sun from beating down too strongly. It makes her skin tingle. She first walks slowly, then briskly. Then after a mile or so, she starts to jog. The wind feels cleansing. As the sweat starts to bead on her forehead, she picks up the pace. She has always loved running – loved the clarity the physical exhaustion brought. But since that night – the night of the failed turning – she has had to run so much further and faster to tire her body. In California, sometimes she would run for hours if she had the time. Today, her limbs and heart complain quickly, but she keeps on running. For the first time in weeks, she feels nearly herself.

She runs in no particular direction, following whatever roads appeal. Soon the buildings and houses disappear and the road is surrounded by trees. She keeps running and after some time, houses start to appear again and she comes through the heart of small town. She starts to feel thirsty and decides to stop to get some water. She sees a bar up ahead – Merlott's. _That is Sookie's bar_. She contemplates turning around, but now that she has slowed to a walk, her thirst has become overwhelming. She continues forward. As she enters, she is relieved to see it entirely empty. She walks up to the bar and rings the little bell. A man steps around the corner.

"Can I help you?"

Out of breath and wiping sweat from her head with a napkin, she asks

"Can I please get some water? I'm happy to pay for it."

Sam looks her over. She is dressed in only a sports bra and oversized track pants, both of which are soaked in sweat.

"Looks like you need it." He fills a large glass and passes it to her.

She pulls some money out of her pocket and sets in on the bar. He waves it off.

"No need for that. Maybe just stop back when you're ready to eat."

"Thanks." She gulps down the water.

"Where you been running?"

"Came from Shreveport."

"Shreveport? That's a good fifteen miles from here. At least." He sounds impressed.

"I like to run."

"I hear that. I enjoy a sprint through the woods pretty regular."

As she sits and her heart begins to slow, Peia feels a weight descend. Her gut clenches. She needs to go soon.

"Sookie works here, right?"

"Sure. You a friend of Sooks?"

"Sort of. When is her typical shift?"

"Late. She usually comes in around 5."

"Thanks. Maybe I'll stop in another time." She slips off the stool.

"You leavin'?"

"Gotta get back to it. It's a long run back to the city."

"Should I tell Sookie you stopped in?"

"That's okay."

She starts to walk toward the door.

"Thanks for the water."

The tightness in her chest is making it hard to breath. She feels a bit dizzy. She tries to jog when she gets out the door, but she finds it difficult to keep a straight line. Soon she feels hot tears streaming down her face. She forces herself to keep moving. This time, she pays no attention to direction and loses track of time. Soon she finds herself back in the woods, a different one. She sees some water up ahead – a pond, a lake? She stumbles toward it. Before she gets there, she looks up and sees an old tree house. Without thinking, she quickly climbs up the ladder. She sits looking out over the water, hugging her knees to her chest. The tears flow freely now, she sobs while her muscles tighten. She has no idea how long she has been there when she hears a truck engine. Then a door slam shut. She tries desperately to stop herself from crying as the footsteps approach.

_I should get up and leave._

Soon a face pops through the floor of the tree house at the top of the ladder. It's Terry.

"You alright up here?" He asks, knowing the answer.

"Is this your tree house?" She responds in a shaky voice, managing to hold back more tears, but still frozen in the same position.

"Sure is. But you can use it." He approaches her cautiously.

"I just came across it and I wanted to be alone."

"Okay."

"And now I can't seem to move."

"You don't have to move."

She is shaking now, her mind scattered and flitting. She whimpers.

Terry looks her over carefully with concern. He spies a tattoo on the underside of her wrist. It is familiar somehow. Where has he seen it before? It is a design, like a set of vines, but there are letters embedded. Ah, he sees them now. PTSD. Someone at one of his group therapy sessions at the VA hospital must have had it. He kneels down beside her, his eyes wide.

"Were you in the war?"

She looks over at him, frowning in confusion. He motions to her wrist. She looks down.

"No. Something else." She feels the need to explain. "In case I forget. Sometimes, I…"

"I know. It's OK."

"But it's not that. I'm just…sad." _Or is it something more? I feel so cold. Why am I here?_

"That's fine. But either way, you're lookin' like you may be headed for something worse. You're not breathin' real regular."

She nods.

"Why don't you try to take some deep breaths for me."

They are shaky at first, but she manages a few deep inhales and exhales. Her muscles start to relax. The shaking dissipates.

"Do you have your pills with you?"

She shakes her head. She ran out months ago.

"Is there someplace I can take you? Someplace that _helps_?" He is relieved that she is more focused in the moment, but still concerned. He has seen the process before. "It'll be dark soon." He continues.

She glances over, taking in his genuine concern. Something about him feels familiar, soothing.

"Could you give me a ride back to Shreveport?" She asks, tentatively.

"Yeah, I can do that."

She nods and lets him help her up. They get into his truck and drive off. They don't speak on the drive much. As they are pulling into the city, she asks,

"Is there a good place, a good doctor? I'm new here."

"Outside the VA, I'm not real sure. I can ask around."

"Thanks."

He pulls over at her indication. He grabs a pen and searches the floor for a scrap of paper. Finding one, he scribbles something down.

"Here's my number. Call if you need help. Anytime."

She takes the number and smiles, appreciative. She gets out and waves. He smiles, awkwardly and drives off.

As she walks down the sidewalk, she catches her reflection in a shop window. Her eyes are puffy and red. She looks at her watch. It is almost dusk. Crap. She forces herself to walk around the block a few times, hoping the cool air will help erase the physical signs of her despair.

_Cucumbers – isn't that what the magazines suggest?_

She stops in a small shop. No produce. But she finds some cucumber cream and a lipstick and figures that will have to do. She heads straight back to the townhouse, fumbling for the key as she approaches nervously. The instant she has closed the outer door behind her, Eric appears in the doorway to the bedroom. She had wanted to have a few minutes to prepare, acclimate. To her surprise, the sight of him is more calming than demanding. She exhales loudly, not realizing she had been holding her breath.

She manages a small smile.

"Hi."

He is suddenly only inches from her. The quickness of his movements should be unsettling, but she feels her body react positively to his closeness.

"You smell of salt."

"I went running."

_Do tears and sweat smell the same to a vampire?_

"You are feeling better._"_

"Better." She repeats with just enough tentative inflection to convey the difference between "better" and "all better".

She wants so badly to bury her face in his chest, to feel his skin on hers, but instead holds back, fighting.

"I should shower", she suggests as a convenient way to escape the decision.

He looks at her with increasing hunger.

"Should I join you?" Eric responds, cautiously.

He, too, restrains his urge to act uninvited. He knows to tread lightly with this one.

A moment passes while she considers this, conflict and confusion devouring the seconds. He is, of course, asking for more than the contact they have shared these days.

Instead of waiting for an answer, he moves in to kiss her. She awkwardly backs away, clearly not ready.

_What is this? Why am I here? _

She mumbles a "sorry" as she pushes past him on her way to the shower.

He is frustrated, but not surprised. He knew better.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

By the time Peia emerges from the shower, Eric is dressed and leaning against the sofa, waiting.

"Get dressed. You should come with me tonight."

It is not quite an order, but authoritative enough that she does not feel comfortable arguing. She nods and pulls on the only clothes she has. She brushes her hair and puts on the lipstick she just bought. As she approaches him, she feels a twinge of panic.

"I'm tired. I don't know…"

Eric takes hold of her hand, gently.

"Stay as long as you can. You need to see."

_See what?_

When they arrive at Fangtasia, Pam and Ginger are just readying the club to open. Pam walks over and gives Peia an unsubtle once-over.

"I was going to say, "well if it isn't Sleeping Beauty" but now I'm leaning toward Rip Van Winkle."

"Pam, a word." Eric insists.

"Sure thing, boss."

They disappear into the back office, leaving Peia alone at the bar. Before sliding onto one of the barstools, she scans the club. Someone she does not recognize is sweeping at the far end, Ginger is putting cash into the bar register.

_I wonder when the dancers arrive._

_**Flashback: Eight Months plus a few days…**_

"Are you sure this is the right place?" Spike asks with a hint of derision. He is dressed in his usual style – a slim fitting deep maroon t-shirt and black jeans, belted unnecessarily, black boots mostly hidden. His hair is short, gelled but not slicked back and a darker shade of blonde than one typically associates with him.

The woman he is with nods in the affirmative.

She appears taller than average, but is on measure, only slightly. Her hair is thick, falls just below her chin and is full of blunt contrast. A frame of light blue surrounds her face and the remainder a deep brown, with a nearly hidden undercurrent of white. She is neither slight nor stout, with a feminine shape topped with defined shoulders and slender neck. Her clothes show an attempt at fashion, with a slightly alternative bent. She is subjectively beautiful. For most, she would be considered good looking, handsome, with strong, angular features. Her nose is neither small enough to be a button nor large enough to give character. Arguably the detail that keeps her from being considered plain by most are her pale eyes, hidden by a smallish frame, but striking to those who look at her straight on, the color indecisive. One could imagine tweaking this or that in a computer program and quickly getting to an ideal of classic beauty. The reality is beauty to some, pleasant to most. She has a confidence that comes with comfort and lack of concern.

She adds in a rather neutral American accent,

"We're a bit early. They said they'd meet us closer to midnight. And remember, they know me only as Peia, so lets stick with that."

"Alright, my Jenny Wren. Peia it is."

She will miss that. She loves it when he calls her Jenny Wren. Makes her knees weak. He told her it was a British thing – for nicknames to sometimes be longer than proper names. Before she was just Jen. Nothing wrong with Jen. Short, strong, functional. Easy to rhyme. She had never been a Jenny. Everyone used to try, but it never felt right to anyone who knew her — the minute it left their mouths, they could tell it didn't fit. But something about the way Spike says it, _Jenny Wren, _made her never object.

"What sort of name is Peia anyway? Sounds like something you'd find in a bad romance novel."

"It's my pen name. They're supposed to be a bit ridiculous. We've been over this. The subscribers know me as CassiopeiaSun, or Peia77."

Gives a light-hearted laugh of derision. She gives him a stern look.

He holds his hands up "Alright. Won't say another word."

"This from a man who goes by Spike."

"I'll have you know that the name Spike has a long tradition behind it. It has _meaning_, yeah."

"Really."

"Sure."

"For you in particular, or just generally?"

"Well, it's a very manly sort of name."

"Who gave you that name? Not your mother, I imagine."

"No." He pauses a minute, suddenly finding himself a bit flustered. "That's funny. I don't remember now."

"Never mind, then. Lets go in, shall we?" She indicates toward the door of the club.

"It looks a bit naff, doesn't it? _Fangtasia_. How long do you think it took them to come up with that?"

The bouncer, a tall, rather plump man in a suit, stops them as they go to enter.

"$20 cover for vampires." He demands in a slightly southern drawl, holding a wad of cash.

"Seriously? That doesn't seem very fair – brought my own human." He nods over to Peia. "And she's cute, too."

"$20", he responds, unimpressed.

"A bit stiff, innit? I suppose _live_ music is out of the question. So what am I paying for exactly?"

"$20 or piss off."

"Do we get a coupon for a free drink or something? Pack of fags? Because then we'd be gettin' something…"

"Spike?" Pam's voice cuts through the door. "Damn, I thought I recognized that accent. And attitude. Come on in."

To the bouncer, "Louis, it's fine. He's with me."

Spike glances back to Peia, shrugging his shoulders as they walk through the front door, held open by Pam.

"In answer to your question, twenty bucks buys you the pleasure of my company", Pam offers in her usual sarcastic sneer.

Spike, still looking confused, offers a timid, "Cheers for getting us in. This your place, then?"

"Partly."

Once they are inside, she turns and leans in to give Spike two big European greeting. kisses on the cheek.

"So good to see you. I feel like I want to hug you, but I don't really do that," Pam practically gushes.

After a beat, she frowns, picking up on his general lack of enthusiasm. "You don't remember me."

"Sorry. Do I know you?"

"It's Pam! You're joking. Pulling my leg. Which isn't nice." Pausing a moment to reflect. "I love it."

Spike scrunches up his face.

"Wish I was, luv. But I got no bells going off here," he says as he waves his hand in the direction of his head.

"Come on. Where's Drusilla?" Pam pokes her head back out the door.

"Who?"

"Don't be ridiculous. Your maker, Drusilla."

"Think you must have me confused with someone else."

"Impossible." Getting annoyed now. "It's only been a few decades. We spent that week in Amsterdam. Little wooden shoes, the finger puppets…?"

"Never been to Amsterdam. Sorry."

"Never been to…?" She flinches before finishing her thought.

"Have to go. We'll talk about this later. First drink's on the house." She blurts as she heads toward the door to the back office.

"That was weird," Peia offers.

"Mistaken identity got us in for free, so lucky, more like."

"Maybe it's not a mistake. Maybe we should talk to her."

"Drink first, talk later."

Peia frowns slightly. She can sense he is apprehensive about learning the truth. Learning just how much Gillian, the vampire they are now on the run from, had gotten into his head.

"Okay."

They head toward the bar and find a couple of empty stools.

"The usual?" Spike asks with a smile.

"Think I'll have gin tonight."

"Oh. Not going to pick a fight with me later, are you?"

"Only if you want me to."

"We'll see about that."

He orders a gin martini and a beer for himself. As they wait for their drinks, they look around.

"Goth vampire bar. Clever," she sarcasms.

"Not."

"In the slightest."

"Trying a bit too hard." She looks at one of the vampire dancers. "Can _you_ move like that? All hyper-speed?"

"Possibly. If I wanted to look like a complete git."

"Here's something fun. Put your hands over your ears and imagine the Peanut's theme music. Changes the whole feel of the place."

He does it.

"Brilliant. I could swear that one over there is doing the Snoopy happy dance."

They laugh and sip their drinks.

"Come over here." He pulls Peia onto his lap. She giggles.

"So what did you think of New Orleans? Mardi gras and all that?"

"Good place to disappear. Think you should have gotten more beads for your tits, though."

"They are my best feature."

"Don't know if I'd go that far."

"You insulting the girls? They're quite sensitive."

"Are they now? Lets see…." He slips his hands under her shirt.

"Stop it. Your hands are cold."

"Even better." He keeps his hand under her shirt and kisses her.

Pulling back a moment.

"I just meant, you've got other _features_ that are quite nice. No disrespect to the girls."

"Yeah?"

They start kissing again. She breaks it up after a few minutes.

"We've still got an hour to wait. Lets not torture ourselves."

"I think this is about as far from torture as we can get. And I've got some personal experience on the subject."

She just smiles and turns so that her back is to him, as he wraps his arms around her waist. Changing the subject…

"What could she do in here?" Peia asks.

"Who? Alice?"

Alice is a character in a graphic novel they have been working on together.

"Yeah. Say her mark was in a vampire bar."

"Poison?"

"Too risky. Could get in the wrong hands, someone else could get hurt."

"Better to make it look like a vampire did the job. Easy enough to frame."

"How?"

Cut to Pam talking to Eric in the office.

"Something just isn't right. There is no way he could have forgotten."

"Although I agree that _you_ are unforgettable, it is, perhaps, more suspicious that he claims to not remember his maker. Are you sure of her?"

"Absolutely. She was batshit crazy in the most awesomely amusing way. Had a thing for children and dolls and creating havoc. He loved causing trouble and broke every rule in the book. They were a perfect pair. And it was widely known that she was his maker."

"How is it that I did not meet them if you knew them so well?"

"You were off on one of your boy sprees with Godric. I had to amuse myself somehow. Anyway, it's not just me. Ask around – he's got quite a reputation in some circles."

"Your tone is giving me a twinge of jealousy." He smirks.

"Its good for you."

"Is it possible he is hiding his identity? Is he alone?"

She thinks for a moment.

"He is with a human. Pretty bland. I assumed she was just dinner."

"Bring him to me."

She nods. Eric follows her out into the club, but goes directly to his observation chair and waits for her to bring Spike to him.

Pam finds Spike and Peia canoodling at the bar.

"Eric wants to see you." She gestures towards him, directing their gaze.

"Who is Eric?" Peia questions.

Pam responds, mildly annoyed. "He's the owner of this club. And the local sheriff."

"Sheriff?", Peia responds, confused.

Spike shrugs.

"What's he want with me? We don't want any trouble."

"Just come on." Pam responds, impatiently.

Peia and Spike start to follow her, but she steps in front of Peia.

"Just Spike."

"S'alright, luv. Get another drink. Your friends will be here soon."

Peia nods, looking a bit concerned. They really do not need any more trouble.

_Not friends, exactly. _

Since they had been on the run — a couple of months now — they had been careful not to access any of her bank accounts. No ATMs, no credit cards, even using disposable phones. She had been able to take out a few thousand with the help of a friend that night they left, but it did not last long. Since then, they'd been relaying on "fans" – subscribers to the online publishing house she ran with a few other writers back in New York. She didn't think Gillian was very tech savvy, but just in case she brought in help, Peia had made use of some password protected temporary chat room-like spaces on the company website to communicate with her personal subscribers. The support had been surprising – people offering places to say, a meal, some cash. Perhaps they thought the idea of a writer on-the-lam was exciting and wanted to participate in the adventure. In any case, when they were in New Orleans, she had found some subscribers in Louisiana who offered to help – said they would do some fundraising on her behalf. Peia felt a bit guilty taking their charity, but what choice did they have?

Peia gets another drink and watches as Spike is questioned by Eric and Pam. It appears friendly enough. In a few minutes, she hears a high -pitched voice say,

"Ms. Sun? Excuse me, Ms. Sun?"

She turns and sees two attractive women in front of her, wearing matching clothes. Uniforms, she surmises. One is blonde and grinning from ear to ear, the other is a redhead holding back a bit, as if embarrassed.

"Please call me Peia."

"Oh right. Peia77. Duh." Sookie says in a self-deprecating tone.

"And you must be Sookie and…"

"Jessica", the redhead puts out her hand. "Pleased to meet you."

Peia smiles.

"You look just like your avatar. I could totally tell it was you. Well, that and the description you gave in your e-mail." Sookie enthuses.

Reaching into her bag, Sookie pulls out an envelope.

"We managed to raise $500. That's from all of us subscribers in this part of Louisiana."

Peia takes the envelope.

"Hold onto their usernames for me – everyone will get credited once things settle down. I can't thank you enough."

"Are you in still danger?" Jessica asks.

"I'm not sure. I think so."

Just then, Spike walks up to the bar and grabs the rest of his beer.

"Hello, ladies."

"Sookie, Jessica, this is Spike."

He waves. They smile.

"We should go. We're just on break. Hey, but we work at a bar over in Bon Temps called Merlotts. If you are in town for a while, you should stop in for a meal."

Just then, they hear screaming coming from a back room. Ginger bursts through the door, hands flailing. Another man is following close behind, carrying a broom. Everything stops. A small bat flies out through the door Ginger just came from. Chaos ensues as the bat flies around for a few minutes, causing the dancers and patrons to scatter in unnecessary panic. Eric watches for a moment, then stands up looking annoyed.

Pam tries to cower subtly, keeping Eric between her and the bat.

"The fucking bats are back," Pam complains. "I fucking hate bats."

Eric vamprushes around the room a couple of times, but growls in frustration when he cannot catch the bat in his hands.

Peia mutters to no one in particular, "Open a window."

Spike grabs a heavy ashtray from the bar and whips it toward a window above the front door. The window breaks, a breeze flows in and a moment later, the bat flies out.

But by then, everyone's night is disrupted and the club empties out. Eric and Pam walk back over to Spike, Peia and the others.

Eric speaks in a loud voice, "I apologize for the disruption. Everyone who stays gets a drink on the house."

A few people walk over to the bar, while others leave.

"Who would have thought that a bat would cause so much chaos in a vampire bar," Sookie observes.

"Did you have to break the window?" Eric frowns in mild annoyance.

"Of course he did." Pam smiles.

"Guess I could have walked over there, got on a chair and opened the window. But I like to throw stuff. And break stuff. Adds a bit of drama to the evening, you know?"

"We have got to do something about those bats." Pam complains again, with more urgency.

"Recurring problem?" Peia inquires.

"Eric, Pam, this is … Peia."

They barely acknowledge her with a brief nod.

"As it happens, Peia here knows something about bats." Spike informs them.

They turn to look at her more directly this time. She thinks for just a moment.

"$500 and I'll get rid of your bats. Will take a couple of days. Tops."

"They _are_ costing us money," Pam offers.

"Done." Eric states without emotion.

Peia holds her hand out to shake on it. Eric looks at her hand, frowns, glances briefly at Spike and then with reluctance shakes her hand.

"I'll need to get in before dusk tomorrow."

"I will inform Ginger. She will let you in." _If she hasn't had a heart attack_, he muses.

Pam and Eric turn to go. The rest head toward the door.

"Hey, do you need a place to stay? Ya'll could crash at my house."

Peia and Spike look at each other, considering. Could be useful to stay in a human's house, in case Gillian tracks them down.

"I've got a totally tricked out vampire cubby, too."

"Really?" Spike replies, a look of surprise and sudden interest on his face.

"Long story."

They make arrangements to meet up after Sookie finishes her shift.

Meanwhile, back in Fangtasia, Eric and Pam are watching Ginger clean up the broken glass.

"What do you think?" Eric asks.

"He seems a bit muted. But it is definitely Spike. Just buried under some shit."

"And his human?"

"She must have _something_ to hold his attention, lord knows what. But I think he is telling the truth about this being strictly vampire business."

"While they are here, I will look into it. But once they move on…"

"I know. Not our jurisdiction."

"See if you can track down his maker."

Pam smiles. Despite herself, she wants the old Spike back, if only for her temporary amusement.


	6. Chapter 6

_**[Quick author's note: Sorry for the delay. Busy over the holidays. I apologize in advance if there are more typos than usual. Life is crazy sometimes!]**_

**Chapter 6**

After learning about Eric's ownership of Sookie's house, Spike and Peia decide against staying there, as it would not offer them any additional protection from Gillian. Instead, for convenience and privacy, they find a hotel in Shreveport. Peia returns to the bar before dark and begins the process of finding the colony of nesting bats she is sure must be lurking somewhere in the attic spaces of the building. She brings a "bat detector" – a device that allows you to hear the echolocation calls of bats by adjusting the frequency to an appropriate range for human ears. Of course, as the bats are most likely inactive during the day, she explores the building, narrowing down the possibilities so that with the arrival of dusk, she will have an idea where to bring the detector. With little help from Ginger, she has trouble finding access points to some of the most likely spaces and ends up going outside to see if she can at least detect a stream of bats as they leave to forage. Just as she is attempting to trace back the origin of the stream, Eric arrives abruptly and startles her, causing her to drop the detector.

"Fuck," she curses as she reaches down to inspect the piece of equipment.

"Have you found them yet?" Eric inquires without any hint of apology.

"I was about to, before you broke my detector."

"_I_ did not break it. You startle easily."

"I don't, actually. I was just concentrating. Do you have to move so freakin' abruptly?"

"I do not. But it is more fun." After a pause, he adds, "I will pay to have the device fixed if you require it."

She just shakes her head and pulls out her phone.

"Luckily, there is an app for that."

She touches the screen a few times and holds it up. After a few seconds, some clicks can be heard.

"Is that the bats?"

"No, it's the wrong frequency. And it's meandering, so likely a different species than the one I was tracking before." She pauses a moment and then puts her phone back in her pocket. She continues

"Can you or Pam help me find access to some attic rooms that are sealed off? I can tell where there are some likely open spaces, but couldn't get to them earlier."

"Pam will not return until the bats are gone. She _hates_ bats."

"I kinda got that last night."

"Birds, too. Something about them getting caught up in her hair."

"It's a thing for some people."

"In any case, _I_ will assist you as needed."

They enter and Eric retrieves the building plans for her. She indicates where the likely places are and they inspect them. Finally, they enter a room with a small, square attic access point in the ceiling. She asks for a ladder and as they set it up under the square, she pauses to have a drink of water. Eric leans against the wall, watching her with his usual dispassionate expression. He and Pam decided to keep the club closed tonight, so he does not have much to do. He will just meet Pam back at the house in a while to discuss some Sheriff business. He wonders if she has found out anything more about Spike's situation. He has a mild interest in Spike, only because of Pam. And perhaps a mild interest in Peia because she is with Spike and does not seem to be a typical "fangbanger" as the humans say.

"Where is Spike?" It occurs to him to ask.

"Oh, he's off getting a bite to eat." A slightly goofy smirk spreads across her face as she realizes her unintentional pun, "so to speak."

_Isn't that what you are for? _Eric wonders to himself.

"A bit obvious." He responds, referring to her turn of phrase.

"This from someone who opened a Goth, S&M vampire bar. Kind of shows a lack of imagination, don't you think?" She has no idea why she just blurted that out so casually.

"There is something to be said for giving people what they expect."

"Black clothes, make-up and leather?" She suggests, still a bit incredulous.

"Do not forget whips and chains." He adds wryly. "It is what they imagine us to be."

She feels suddenly self-conscious, realizing that the two of them are on opposite sides of that phrase.

"So you let them continue to believe that?" _I am one of them, why didn't I say 'us'?_

"I do not see what advantage there is to shattering their expectations."

"I guess," she relents, unsure of how to respond. She jokes, "Maybe a Hip Hop theme would have blown their minds."

"How long have you been with Spike?" He senses that she has not had much experience with vampires. He wonders what her expectations were.

She thinks for a minute – it has been such a whirlwind.

"A few months. Five or six." _Really? Is that all?_

"And before him?"

She frowns, confused about what he is asking. When she gets it, she replies a bit flustered.

"No, I, er, Spike is the first vampire I've dated."

"Dated?" Eric cannot hold back a smile as he repeats this.

Instantly, Peia feels out of her element. Honestly, she knows nothing about vampires outside of her little world. Including what other vampires do with other humans. Spike and Gillian were the first vampires she had ever met – and for the first month or so, she wasn't even sure they were vampires. Nothing was made explicit. In the town she was living in, it was either not talked about, not done, or she was blissfully unaware of vampire/human interactions. The fact that the vampire standing in front of her was so incredulous about the term 'dated' used in that context made her feel uncomfortably unknowledgeable. A feeling she avoids desperately. Time to get back to something she knows….

She puts her empty glass down and starts climbing the ladder. Eric holds the base as she nears the top. With some effort, she dislodges the cover and immediately Eric lets out a disgusted grunt and covers his nose with his arm.

"Guano," Peia explains. "Guess we found it."

She examines the space with a flashlight, with just her head through the square entrance.

"It's a decent sized colony in here. I mean, empty now because they are all out foraging, but probably a few hundred bats at least, judging by the amount of guano."

"What kind are they?"

_Why does he want to know that?_

"Well, they're not vampire bats, if that is what you are wondering. Probably big brown bats."

"Big brown bats? Is that a technical description, because I could have told you that last night."

"_Eptesicus fuscus, _the Big Brown Bat" She responds, irritated to be questioned.

"What now?"

"Well, I don't see an obvious entry point to seal up, so we'll have to wait until they start coming back. Once we know that, we wait for them to leave and seal up the entrance."

"That is another day. Cannot we just seal it up and let them starve? Or poison them?"

She comes back down the ladder, frowning.

"I like bats. Besides, they'll smell to high-heaven if you let them die in here."

"Good point."

"So we wait. Could be close to dawn before they come back."

"Will you require my assistance? I would prefer to not spend the rest of the night in this room."

"Oh, right. Yeah, no problem. I'll just text Spike and he can wait with me."

Instead of leaving, Eric finds himself standing there, watching her fiddle with her phone.

"How do you know so much about bats?" He is surprised to hear himself ask this, as he really does not care.

"I used to be a scientist. Back in the mists of time. Not bats, particularly, but…"

As she says this, he looks at her directly for the first time. Her hair is pulled back into two discrete pigtails toward the back of her head, the blue-tinted bangs hanging angled over her forehead. She has a tiny gold hoop through her right eyebrow and a number of currently empty piercing holes along her earlobes. If anyone asked, he would have guessed she was Sookie's age, maybe a few years older. He is hardly good at guessing human ages, but still, hard to imagine this woman in front of him as a "once scientist."

She continues, "I saw an ad for someone to look after a colony of vampire bats in a private residence. Turns out it was a vampire named Gillian, who must have thought it incredibly kitchy for a vampire to keep vampire bats. So she hired me to look after them, with the agreement that I could study their behavior as I wished. Was there over a year, so learned a lot about bats."

"Gillian. Spike mentioned her." _She is the one who he thinks is his Maker._

"That's how I met Spike. He lived in the house with Gillian."

"You are afraid of her. I can tell by how you say her name."

"She didn't like it when Spike left. When we both left."

Eric smirks and raises an eyebrow.

"So you ran away with a vampire's boyfriend? That was brave." The way he says 'brave' makes it clear that he really means idiotic. "Hell hath no fury like a vampire scorned. I speak from experience."

"I didn't know she was his girlfriend," she responds defensively, almost in a pleading tone. "It was confusing. They referred to each other as "family" and I never saw any overt affection, so I assumed they were brother and sister. I only found out the day we left."

**Flashback two months earlier**

Peia/Jen is coming down the stairs of her apartment building, exhausted from her recent trip. She had just arrived back in town after the six-hour drive up north. She hated driving. Always took the train or flew when possible. But this trip was impromptu and she did not have time to make arrangements. So she popped her anxiety pills, along with ridiculous amounts of strong coffee and set off. It took twice as long as it should have, but she got there. She put in her duty, barely holding herself together with the help of various drugs and meditation. But she survived it and was now home. Emotionally and physically drained, she was desperate to get to her bed tonight. Once she had some sleep, she could calm her brain, which was fragmented to the point of complete chaos. All she had left to do was unload the car. As she pushed through the outer door, her sight set on the little Honda hatchback parked on the street, she heard her name.

"Jen?"

Recognizing the voice, she could not help but smile as she turned toward it. She had not had time to tell Spike in person why she had to go. She had left him a note, given to Gillian, explaining things as best she could. Things had been so crazy and muddled that she had not had time to even contemplate how she was going to apologize. Everything had been going so well. She feels the stress of the trip melting away in that second, anticipating the sight of him.

But what she sees drains the blood from her face. He is steadying himself against a tree, looking disheveled and lost. His clothes look wet. His face and neck are covered in blood. She moves toward him quickly, worried, but stops a few feet away when he holds up his hand.

"Are you hurt?"

The dark tone of his voice when he replies sends a chill down her spine.

"No."

She looks more closely and sees the traces of blood on his teeth, around his mouth. She can see no cuts, no gashes on his body, no tears in his shirt. Even her muddled brain can guess at the scenario that would result in this display before her. Despite herself, she feels frightened. Up to now, she had managed to bury that part of him that she did not care to understand. She never asked how he nourished himself. People did not turn up dead regularly in their town, so she assumed he was either discrete, or had another way of getting blood. She asked few questions. She should have cared more.

"Where were you?" He asks, his tone plaintive.

"Didn't you get my note?" As soon as she speaks these words, she realizes how pathetic they sound.

He shakes his head. "You've been gone more than a fortnight. Almost two. I didn't know what happened."

"I'm sorry. I couldn't contact you from…."

She stops in midsentence, arrested by the desperate look on his face. She steps forward and wraps her arms around him. He puts his hands on her cheeks and kisses her. She can taste & smell and feel the blood. He breaks away and shakes his head as if he is trying to shake clear his mind.

"You feel warm. What's happened?" He did feel warm. For the first time she can remember.

"Something's wrong. Sick, maybe?" He tries desperately to remember what sickness feels like.

He shakes his head again, unsteady on his feet.

"Come inside. Let me clean you up."

"I have to go. It isn't safe."

_She sent me to kill her. I can't. I can't go back. _

She does this every few years, Gillian. Drives him nuts. The minute they get settled. The minute things start to look up, she decides its time to move on. "We need a clean slate," she'd say. Then they would kill all their employees – the housekeepers, gardeners, whoever else was on staff and they would move somewhere else.

"Are you in trouble?" Peia's mind races. He must have killed someone. Many people, maybe and the police are after him. Or someone else who cares about a vampire out of control.

Spike looks up at her, pained. Things were going so well. Something real for the first time in ages. He winces as he plays back Gillian's voice from an hour ago. "You are going to find your little human toy and you are going to dispose of her. You had your fun, which I don't begrudge you—that's what they're for, but all things come to an end except for you and me. We need a clean slate."

"Come with me." He hears himself say.

_Yes, that could work. _

She grimaces, unintentionally. She couldn't just leave, could she? A thousand thoughts leap into her head —things left behind, people who would wonder, arrangements necessary — all for someone she just starting seeing. A vampire who_kills_people. The cacophony of thoughts crescendos and then stops, abruptly, as if forcibly ejected, replaced by a warm stillness. She meets his inquiring gaze.

"How long do we have?"

A fleeting smile crosses his face as he takes in the implication of her question.

In truth, Peia did not learn the details of what had happened between Spike and Gillian for another 24 hours. Including the fact that they had been a couple and not brother and sister. Because in the frantic minutes that followed their decision to leave, his physical and mental state deteriorated to the point that he was practically unconscious when she loaded him into the darkened hatch of her car and drove off. Until he pulled out if it, she continued under the assumption that those after him were the police and covered their tracks accordingly.

**Back to the Present**

Eric laughs and shakes his head.

"Brother and sister. That must have been an enlightening conversation. [pause] Yes, I find it quite amusing."

Peia just shakes her head at the ridiculousness of it.

"Let me ask you this. Would it have made any difference?"

"I'd like to say yes, but I honestly don't know." _I wouldn't have given Gillian the note, that's for sure._ "They had a strange relationship."

"Strange by what measure? Human?" He replies dismissively.

"She _poisoned_ him so he couldn't leave her. She messed with his memory so he doesn't even know who he is. I think that's fucked up from _any_ perspective."

"Perhaps." He shrugs. "Rationalization can be useful in situations such as these."

"Once he gets his memory back, we'll know the truth." She responds, almost more to herself than in response to Eric's accusation.

"And you will help him get it back."

"Yeah. Somehow." Her expression belies her uncertainty.

"Are you not afraid the memories returned to him might change his commitment to you?"

Her lips thin as she contemplates this. She shakes her head.

"It doesn't matter. I have to help him."

"Why?"

"Because I love him."

"Does he love you?"

"He says he does."

"You do not know for sure?" His curiosity surprises him. _Why is he still there?_

"You never really know, do you? But I have no reason to doubt him."

_Fascinating_.

"I would think that should result in the opposite approach. Keep him as he is now, content with you."

"You don't understand love."

"The subject holds little interest to me," Eric replies dispassionately. This is a lie.

"She found us once, you know. Spike explained everything…"

"I am sure she was relieved to know it was true love." He interrupts, sarcastically.

"It was ugly." _Understatement. But it was as good a time as any to find out I might be immortal. _"We haven't seen her since, so I think she may have gotten the message."

Suddenly a series of clicks can be heard coming from Peia's phone. She frowns in confusion.

"How long have we been talking?"

"Not long. Why?" _And yet, too long_. Eric feels the intense ache of hunger sweep over him.

"The bats are coming back. They should be out until close to dawn."

Out of the corner of his eye, Eric sees the far-off dim glow of the approaching sunrise. A familiar mild panic rises in him.

"The sun will rise soon."

"That's not possible. It was dusk less than an hour ago."

She blinks hard. Her eyes feel dry like they have been open too long. She has trouble focusing on the glow of her phone. She blinks a few more times, straining to focus. Her eyes widen as she holds the phone up for Eric to see.

"It's 5:15."

"I do not understand. How can this be?"

There is a brief pause as Peia's mind races. She feels the blood rush up into her face, her heart start to flutter as she realizes what must have happened.

"Gillian. She must have…Oh God, where's Spike?"


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

The next nearly 24 hours were a blur of panic and confrontation. Gillian _had_ found Spike. Peia could only speculate on what occurred during the hours spent between them that night while she and Eric were mystically pre-occupied. She had found Spike wandering the streets, confused and acting strangely in the desperate minutes before daylight. He had mumbled something about a verbally ballistic argument turning physical as morning approached. He managed to trap Gillian somewhere to make his escape. When pushed for more details, his voice trailed off in a familiar way – the memory was fading, the specifics fuzzy. He hadn't even noticed himself start to burn in the coming dawn, only saying that he had smelled something strange as he was walking along. Peia quickly threw her jacket over his head and got him inside before the damage was too severe.

Spike fell asleep quickly once they found a safe place, but Peia was too terrified to rest appreciably. If they had had more time, she could have found a way to load him into the trunk of her car so she could drive them away quickly in the day while Gillian slept. Instead, she just watched him, planning the details of every second once the sun went down that night – if they were quick, maybe they could slip away. Maybe by train this time. She went over it in her head, again and again, trying to think of every alternative, every variable. Once she figured she'd nailed it – the plan, she relaxed a bit. Maybe she could sleep for a few minutes. But then the retching started.

At first, she just felt Spike start to twitch next to her. Unusual for a vampire – she had been disturbed in their first nights together at just how dead he appeared when sleeping. So the twitching was odd, but she just figured he was dreaming (?). Then came the moaning and soon after, she could feel the heat radiating from his body like a furnace. She tried to wake him. His eyes opened just before the first retch sent what smelled like spoiled blood dripping down the side of the bed. This was bad. Very, very bad. So she watched him all day through the fits of sickness, counting the minutes until nightfall. Could he die from this? She would take him straight to Eric and Pam.

In the end, it took a few hours to covertly wrangle a nearly catatonic Spike out the door, across town and into Fangtasia to see Eric. She wondered if Eric had a separate office for vampire business, but there was no one to ask, so to the front door they went.

They are ushered to a large separate room in the back. It appears to be a small warehouse attached to the main building. Rectangular in shape, Eric sits in a chair at the front as if holding court. Pam is at his side with a clipboard and another vampire is busy escorting people in and out. Superficially, Eric looks disinterested. On further examination, however, one can see in his expression enjoyment in the power his position as Sheriff granted him.

Pam brings in a chair for Spike, who collapses into it, barely conscious. Once all the others are cleared out, Peia is given the nod that it is her turn. She can't help but feel there is something oddly medieval in the way _vampire business_ seems to be conducted. She takes a couple of awkward steps forward, toward Eric, feeling nervous putting any distance between herself and Spike. Before Peia has a chance to say anything, Pam looks up from her clipboard and said dryly,

"State your business with the Sheriff."

Peia frowns, thrown a bit by the formality. She wants to say "Isn't it obvious?", but instead follows Pam's example.

"We ask for your help…and protection."

Eric's eyes are on her like a hawk, appraising.

"Help with what, exactly?" Eric asks without emotion.

Gesturing behind her, "Spike is sick. I think he's dying." She pauses a moment and lowers her voice, "I guess that's not the right word. I worry that he won't get better."

"And?" Eric

"Obviously, Gillian has poisoned him. For refusing to go back with her."

"Can you provide proof of this?"

"Well, no. But he was fine before he saw her and is sick now. He told me they argued." She answers, feeling a bit surprised to be questioned on this point after their prior conversation.

"I see."

"She's crazy – she'll kill him if she can't have him. She has said as much before. She'll _definitely_ kill me," She adds, almost as an afterthought. "We need protection from her." Correcting herself, "We _ask_ for protection from her."

"It is not clear why this should be my concern. You are human. Go to the police if you need protection." Eric states, plainly.

"But the primary…er…_aggrieved_ is vampire." She is uncomfortable referring to Spike as the victim. "That's significant, right?"

"And yet, it is not a vampire who petitions me."

"He's unconscious!" She points out, frustrated.

"Nevertheless," Eric adds.

Peia glances back at Spike, who has further slumped into the chair.

"Can you at least help him? I don't know how." Once again, she must admit her limited knowledge and this makes her feel utterly helpless.

After a brief silence, Pam, looking impatient, blurts almost scolding, "_Eric_."

He glances up at Pam and gives her an intimate smile, letting her in on the little game he is playing.

"Send for Dr. Ludwig," Eric relents.

"Thank you," Peia offers, relieved.

"A complaint from a human, even as it regards a vampire, must be weighed… _appropriately_ against a complaint from a vampire against a human."

Peia just frowns, unable to understand the point of this statement other than its racist(?) implication.

"It would be seen unfavorably for me to take the word of a human over that of a vampire. In such case, my hands would be tied."

"What vampire?" Still annoyed, impatient for the arrival of the doctor.

"Gillian, who is sitting in my office inside Fangtasia right now, has petitioned me to deliver Spike to her. She claims that you have bewitched him and should be killed for it."

"Gillian is here?" She feels temporarily light-headed and a bit nauseous. She shakes herself out of it and thinks.

"She was quite persuasive, wasn't she, Pam?" Eric adds.

Pam makes a begrudged "hmm mm" sound of agreement.

"Doo I look like someone who is capable of _bewitching _anyone?"

Simultaneously, Pam says "No" and Eric says "Maybe if you put a little more effort in."

"Come on. I study bats. I write. I don't _bewitch_."

Just then, Dr. Ludwig enters and following Eric's glance, heads toward the chair with Spike. They all watch while she examines him, takes a quick blood sample, which she places in a small vial and shakes. She gruffily asks Peia to describe his symptoms. After a few more seconds, she checks her watch, looks at the color of the vial and says, unceremoniously.

"It's a spell. A strong one at that. Progressive. Nothin' physical for me to treat. You'll need a witch to undo-it, else he'll, uh, _liquefy_."

"I _knew_ it. Gillian's a witch." Peia exclaimed with certainty. It always seemed strange for a vampire to keep such a large collection of herbs. Enhances the flavor of the blood MY ASS.

"She's a vampire AND a witch. She's a _vamwitch_. Surely that's got to be illegal," Peia states hopefully.

"Gillian claims you are the witch." Eric counters.

"How does that make any sense? Why would I come here to you?"

"You need help getting rid of her. You are only a human."

"You don't really believe that, do you?"

"As I said before, in the absence of evidence, the word of a vampire must hold more weight."

"Can you wake him up?" Peia pleads to Dr. Ludwig.

She shrugs and pulls out a jar from her bag. She uncorks it and holds it under Spike's nose.

"Smelling salts?" Peia guesses.

"Faerie blood." Dr. Ludwig corrects as she pours a few drops in his mouth. Eric bristles as she says this, but stifles his reaction.

Spike reacts slowly, but his eyes begin to flutter open. Dr. Ludwig packs up her things, giving the jar to Peia as she leaves. On her way out, she says to Eric, "I'm happy to assist as necessary. You know where to find me."

After a few seconds, Eric starts to speak.

"Spike. Do you know where you are?"

Spike nods.

"This human claims you wish to petition me. It must come from you."

"Help. Please. Bitch poisoned me – Gillian." Spike splutters with some effort.

"Is this human yours?" Eric indicates Peia.

Spike looks at her, then back at Eric. He nods.

"And now our asses are covered." Pam concludes cheerfully.

Eric shoots her a look.

"If we want the trouble." She hastily adds.

"So you'll help us?" Peia says, smiling with relief.

"The technical barriers to our ability to help have been lifted."

"But?" Peia anticipates

"But it will require a good deal of effort. Gillian is both a powerful witch and an old vampire. Keeping her will not be easy. Plus some would see this as simply a lover's quarrel. One such quarrel that was initiated _outside_ of my jurisdiction."

"We're here now. Spike was fine when you saw him two days ago and now he isn't. Aren't you obligated to find out what happened?" Peia counters, her frustration growing.

"Obligated is a strong word. Perhaps we help Spike recover and then let the two of them work things out on their own. I would be willing to help you escape Gillian's wrath. I do owe you for finding the bats."

"And just leave him to her? Are you kidding? She'll just wipe his mind again."

"Maybe that is all it would take for them to be happy." He says with a wry smile. "Then I have two happy vampires. Win win."

"Win." Pam adds. "You forgot the one for us when we get paid."

Peia shakes her head, "I don't see how you can call yourself a Sheriff when you can let someone get away with…"

"I would like to help you. Honestly. Pam has an interest in seeing Spike back to himself and we all hate witches."

"It's a thing," Pam adds.

"But there are a number of ways that this situation can be resolved. If I intervene the way you wish, I would be going out on a limb."

It suddenly dawns on Peia what Eric is getting at. She wants to kick herself for being so naïve.

"Oh you're _that_ kind of Sheriff," She mutters, quietly. She can't help picturing Alan Rickman threating to cut out Kevin Costner's heart with a spoon. She glances back at Spike, who is unconscious again.

A beep on Pam's phone interrupts the moment – she looks down at the text message and raises an eyebrow.

"Just make it worth his while, honey, if you want to keep your vampire." Pam says as she starts typing a reply.

"What do you want? Money? I could probably…"

"Gold is acceptable, but unimaginative," Eric responds.

"I don't have any gold," She states plainly.

"What do you have?" Eric asks, honestly interested in her response.

This is the fun part. Gillian had been overly cordial, considering. Likely knowing her own guilt and not wanting to risk the involvement of the Magister, she would offer gold, for sure. Perhaps land. These things did not excite him much tonight.

Peia's mind races – what does she have to offer? Money would be possible, but difficult. Converting it to gold would take time. She's already done the bat thing.

"I could write you a story," Peia offers.

"A story? You are honestly trying to bribe me with words?" He can't stop himself from laughing.

"I think that's a first." Pam snickers.

"You have got to write that down."

"I'm taking a picture." Pam is almost hysterical.

"And here I thought the guy with the dwarf pigs had balls."

A bit defensive, but trying to sound persuasive, Peia responds,

"Not just a story. Erotica. Tell me your kinks and I'll scorch your eyebrows."

"A dirty story? Really?" Eric hasn't laughed this hard in AGES, but he tries to look serious while listening to her pitch.

Despite the ridicule, Peia's confidence grows.

"People pay good money for this kind of thing now. Since the conservatives locked down the web – got rid of the free porn and made everything subscription only."

"Is that so?" To Pam "And a history lesson, as well."

"I'm good. Seriously. It's what I do."

Eric sits back up and raises his eyebrows to hear the rest. _Interesting. This part is always fun._

"I have vampire fans. Well, two vampire fans that I know of, but there are probably more. I can work with any fetish, any kink. It's a gift. Just tell me what you're into and I'll write something that will get you off."

"She wants to get me off, Pam. I find that rather tantalizing."

"For all I know things might have gotten a bit boring for someone as old as you. Let me get inside your head and I'll make it fresh again." Peia continues, feeling encouraged, already testing scenarios in her mind.

"Do you write from experience?" Pam asks, skeptically.

Peia responds, reflexively, "I know how to have a good time."

This is her stock response whenever anyone asks that question. Which they do, A LOT. In truth, it is more a form of sexual empathy than extensive experience – despite her enthusiasm, her personal tastes are relatively kink-free.

Pam whispers something in Eric's ear.

"I would love to stay and hear more about your dirty stories, but we have to wrap this up. Gillian is getting impatient."

"Do we have a deal?" Peia asks in astonishment. _Could it be that easy?_

"I have no interest in your words." Eric laughs, good naturedly. "But I think we can find an alternative arrangement."

"Ok?" Peia says nervously.

Eric thinks a moment before speaking.

"I find you entertaining. Have Spike agree to release you to me for a night. Tomorrow."

"Excuse me?"

Explaining in a very neutral tone, he replies,

"You are _his_ human, so technically, he needs to agree to release you to me to avoid any proprietary issues and such. But I agree to have you in exchange for my help."

_Is this really what it sounds like? And why does he make it sound like I should be flattered?_

"Sorry, I'm having Demi Moore flashbacks – so this is an _Indecent Proposal_ sort of arrangement?" Peia snarks.

"Is that another story reference?" Eric asks, a bit annoyed at the time this is taking.

"A movie," Pam interjects. She says to Peia, "Yeah, that's the general idea. If Robert Redford were younger and more attractive, Demi Moore was kinda plain, and more than one type of bodily fluid was exchanged."

"Seriously?" Peia is still having trouble wrapping her head around the suggestion. Perhaps flaunting her erotica writing abilities was not a fantastic idea afterall.

"It has been a slow week at the club," Eric shrugs, arrogantly.

"So, is there, like, a form to fill out?" Peia asks sarcastically.

To her surprise, Pam walks over to a desk and pulls a sheet of paper out of a drawer.

"Spike needs to sign this. I'll be witness."

_So this is actually happening? _

As the implications sink in, Peia's demeanor becomes serious.

"How am I supposed to get him to sign?"

Eric glances at the jar of blood still in her hand from when Dr. Ludwig left.

"That's not what I meant." Peia responds, lips thinning.

"Rationalization can be useful in situations such as these," Eric responds with a look that sends a chill down her spine. He is enjoying this. This is power.

"If I agree and he signs, you will cure him and you will lock Gillian up while Spike and I have a chance to disappear."

"Yes."

Peia glances at Pam, who then looks nervously at Spike. She nods and says "Witness."

"More terms." Peia continues forcefully. "No recording devices - video or audio. I want to see proof that you have an antidote before I come to you. You will post a guard to protect him while I'm gone."

_Feisty, isn't she? This might be fun._

"Agreed." Eric says as he nods.

Peia once again looks to Pam, who utters an annoyed "Witness."

"Pam, get me a witch."

Skeptical, "It's not like I have one on speed dial. Where do you find a witch?"

"Ask Lafayette. His people dabble in such things."

"The gays?" Pam guesses, sarcastically.

Eric just shakes his head.

[The following conversation takes place in Swedish]

"So that's it?" Pam says a moment later to Eric, with a disappointed tone. "I thought maybe you'd hold out for something we both could enjoy."

"Who says I won't share?" Eric replies with a smirk. Pam looks over at Peia, now kneeling next to Spike and tilts her head before uttering a skeptical "hm."

"You know Spike's going to be pissed as hell when he comes out of this funk. I always heard he had jealousy issues."

"You know as well as I do that _if_ he gets back to himself, he will be preoccupied with bigger things."

"Maybe," Pam responds in slightly worried tone. Under her breath, "But he's one sadistic son-of-a-bitch when he's angry."

Eric waves her off.

Ignoring their foreign conversation, Peia continues to kneel next to Spike for a few minutes. After a time she takes in a deep breath, closes her eyes and pulls the cork from the jar.


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

_Author's note: This chapter contains sexually explicit language and situations. You have been warned._

Everything had been settled to Peia's satisfaction by the end of that night. The doctor had managed to come up with something to stabilize Spike's decline, buying them time. Lafayette, under some duress, had been able to put them into contact with someone who had experience with the kinds of spells that Gillian had likely used. By the end of the next day, Dr. Ludwig, working with the witch had come up with an antidote of sorts – they were under instructions to administer it the following morning once Peia's obligation had been met. Peia had insisted that Spike stay in their hotel room with a guard instead of being kept in a back room of Fangtasia.

Pam had instructed Peia to report to Fangtasia by 10pm and added in a perfunctory tone, "Don't wear too much perfume. Eric finds is irritating." This made Peia's stomach clench and also made her want to bathe in the stuff, but she resisted the impulse.

By 10, the club was only about half full. Eric, sitting in his usual place, kept a casual eye on the door and noted Peia's prompt arrival without perceptible reaction. He took note that she looked, for the most part, just as she had the previous three times he had seen her. Her lipstick may have been a bit fresher, but she had not dressed for the occasion in any obvious way. She was wearing a skirt, but casual and not overly short. The look was, as usual, stylish but low-key, flattering to her figure, but not overtly feminine or sexual. He expected to be disappointed, often finding it amusing when women tart themselves up to play the part. Instead, he was pleased to find that this seemed to add to his interest, which had been, in fact, relatively mild.

Pam greeted her and told her to get a drink at the bar. Eric would let her know when he wanted her to join him. So Peia got herself a scotch and sat at the bar, wondering if she should have taken something a bit more powerful. No, she had decided it was better to be alert. She did not look for him in the club – did not notice him observing her. That said, she had surmised the reason for the wait – the reason not to have met him in his private residence – was so that he could watch and pick her out of the crowd, some sort of vampire foreplay, mimicking a predator selecting its prey.

_I will be in the game, but I will not play the game_, she repeated to herself as she sipped the scotch and tried to distract herself by considering her fellow patrons.

After an hour or so, she felt herself start to get agitated – the waiting was the worst and the more time went by, the sooner it was all going to start. She noticed the man next to her light a cigarette and she turned and asked if she could bum one. The man smiled, offered her one, which she took and promptly put in her mouth. Just as she leaned in to get a light, Eric appeared.

"Ready?" He said, gruffly, grabbing her hand without waiting for a response and pulling her away from the bar.

He took her to his office, which she had seen before when she was exploring the building looking for bats. She could see that there was a door slightly ajar on the far side of the room – a closet? A small room? She couldn't remember from the plans, but decided it might have been a small storage room of some kind. She glanced around nervously as he sorted some papers on the desk and then looked at his phone, presumably checking messages.

"I don't suppose you have a light?" She asks, cigarette still in her hand.

"Let me get that for you," He replies without looking up. He quickly walks over, grabs the cigarette and throws it in the trash, then looks back down at his phone.

She rolls her eyes.

"Those things will give you cancer." He scolds in a slightly mocking tone.

"Not really worried about that, thanks." She isn't.

"You seem nervous," He observes.

"Uneasy, perhaps. Hard as this may be to believe, I'm new to this whole whoring business. Not really sure how this is supposed to go."

There is a knock at the door. Eric walks over and opens it a crack. He grumbles something in Swedish to the person standing on the other side. Then he walks back to his phone and appears to send a text.

"Excuse me. I just have to take care of something." He starts to walk out of the room. "Can I get you another drink?"

"I left my scotch at the bar."

He nods and leaves. She looks around the room and then cautiously takes a few steps toward the other door. She peers in – it is windowless and about half the size of the office she is in now. To the left is a coffin, but the bulk of the room is taken up by a king sized bed in the middle, black sheets, no covers. Along the floor are some large, unlit candles, with obvious prior use. She closes her eyes and takes a deep breath, then heads back to the other side of the office, hearing Eric's voice as he approaches the outer door.

Eric walks in and hands her the glass after locking the door behind him.

"Pardon the interruptions. I usually do this sort of thing in the basement where I have more privacy, but we've got some…er…people down there."

She swigs the rest of the scotch, gaining some courage from the boldness of the act.

"Where is the antidote?" She says in a surprisingly level tone.

"It is here. Safe."

"May I see it?"

"You do not trust me?"

"I do, actually, though I don't know why," after a brief pause, "I'd still like to see it."

"Very well."

He walks over to a safe on his desk, opens it and takes out a flask. She nods and he puts it back, closing the door, but not locking it.

"What did you tell him?" Eric asks as he leans back against a desk, watching Peia.

"The truth. Mostly. That you wanted to bite me. That I thought you would honor your word. That I don't mind. It's all he needed to know."

"Interesting that you would focus only on the blood."

"Men are funny about sex," She states plainly.

"Vampires are funny about blood," He counters.

_Are they?_ She wonders to herself.

"I'm pretty sure he would have a bigger problem with sex – _if_ that is going to be part of the deal – so I was sure to de-emphasize that aspect."

Looking at her more closely and inhaling slightly.

"These are not your clothes. You bought them today. You plan on throwing them away."

"As I said, men are funny about these things."

"And women are not?"

"Women are more pragmatic. It's funny because the common opinion is that women can't separate sex from emotion, but I think that is just what men tell themselves. I think women may actually be better at it than men – the separation. When circumstances require it."

"An endless history of whores would agree." Eric adds, without judgment.

She tends to ramble when she is nervous….

"I think the main difference is that our brains are more in control. Men have sex when they want to and they can't when they don't. Women are always able to have sex, but we can choose whether or not to let ourselves enjoy it, whether or not to have it mean something more. At least we learn to over time."

"Over time?" He repeats back to her, skeptically.

"Sure. Every woman falls in love with their first. Some learn faster than others after that."

He cannot help his mind jumping to Sookie and Bill – perhaps it was not _just_ the blood. He tries hard not to fixate on it, else he will start comparing this human to Sookie and his night will be ruined.

Peia, nervously rambling, continues, "Maybe that's why men go for younger women – they hope to get them in that early phase when orgasms mean true love."

Eric moves closer to her now, trying to shake the thoughts of Sookie. As he continues the conversation, he starts to slowly undress Peia. He begins with her shirt – a light cotton blouse with buttons down the front.

"But not you. You are old and wise," He responds with a hint of sarcasm.

"Older and wiser, yes," she replies, standing perfectly still while he works on each button of her blouse in turn.

"Than?"

"Than when I was 22." She hesitates a moment, wondering what his reaction will be if she tells him the truth. "I'm 64 now."

At this point he has finished with the buttons and he pulls the shirt off of her shoulders, tossing it on a nearby chair. Underneath is a black tank top.

"Do you consider that old?" He asks, barely paying attention, focusing instead on her clothes and the body underneath.

"Well, yes. I mean, twenty of those years were spent in a coma, so I can't take experience credit for all of them. How old are you?" She asks, honestly curious.

He pulls her tank top over her head, barely touching her skin directly.

"Considerably older than Spike, which is all that is relevant."

He scans her upper body, now just covered in a simple pale blue bra. He looks up at her face and at her hair, as if noticing the color for the first time. Fingering one of the blue highlights, he asks, "Do you dye your hair to match your eyes, or is it just coincidence?" _Glacial ice_, he thinks to himself.

She is thrown by this question and flusters, "I, eh, change the color a lot."

He kneels down in front of her and starts pulling down her skirt. She feels a surge of adrenaline, and her hearts starts beating quickly in response. She has never been in this situation before – never been viewed in this way. She is not self-conscious. Not because she believes herself flawless – hardly – but simply has the acceptance that comes with age. And she has no desire to please Eric – her intention is to do the minimum she has to tonight to fulfill her obligation, nothing more. And yet feeling his appraising eyes on her, having someone see her _only_ physically is disconcerting. As with all situations with which she is unfamiliar, she tries to take back control. She blurts,

"Do you think we can start with the biting? I'd quite like to get that over with."

He finishes pulling down her skirt, which she steps out of and he tosses next to her shirts. Her panties are the boyshort type, the same color as the bra – cheap, but new, as with everything else. He notes, in passing, _not as slender as Sookie, breasts a bit bigger, thighs thicker, waist narrower in proportion, but backside fleshier._

He frowns a moment at her words, looking confused and then scans the rest of her body thoroughly, but quickly this time, turning her around roughly with his hands as he looks again. He steps back, his eyes wide.

"He has never bitten you." It probably should have been a question, but he is quite sure. There are no remnants of bite marks in the usual places and the only areas still covered would not be choice.

Oddly speechless at his reaction, she just shrugs.

"Why?" He asks, flabbergasted.

"We wanted to keep blood out of it. Keep things honest." It's true. She and Spike had the conversation after they first starting seeing each other and she had said she was willing, but it seemed best to them to keep it separate – the food lust and the _lust_ lust.

"You know that is not normal? No vampire would have relations with a human and not take blood. Gillian must have truly messed with his head."

"Hey, you don't know him. You don't know _us_," She responds defensively.

"You do not know vampires." Eric states, definitively.

_Suddenly, this just got a whole lot more interesting. A virgin neck is always more appealing._

He walks toward her with a predatory look in his eye and she reflexively backs away until she comes up against the wall behind.

"You have not tasted his blood, then?"

"No, why?" She is at first disgusted, then thinks a moment, "Well, other than…"

He smiles, getting her implication and then picturing her with a cock in her mouth. His face is quite close to hers and he relishes her nervous anticipation. He whispers in a lusty voice while placing his hand on her crux of her neck,

"So he is not yours and you are not his and yet you are willing to do this for him? To give another vampire the rights to something he himself does not have?"

"Flesh is only flesh. There are bigger things to harbor."

"So that is love, then." Spoken as if he is trying to understand.

She nods, but then quickly adds in a quiet voice tinged with uncertainty, "I hope so," still tense expecting his fangs at any moment. _This could be the wrong decision. This could ruin everything. _

She feels oddly free with her honesty. Perhaps there is comfort in someone else knowing. She will not see him after this, so what does it matter?

"Rest assured, it is only your flesh I seek," After a brief pause, he continues, reasserting control, "I will taste when I wish to taste and I think, perhaps, there are other things I wish to do first." And with that, he brings his hand down to her chest, slides it to her back to unclip her bra and tosses the garment to the floor. He then lowers himself enough to slide off her panties, moving his hands along her body she stands back up.

Standing there, naked, she feels a surge of defiance and states plainly as his face reaches the level of her own, "Just so you know, I have no intention of faking it for you. I don't even fake it for men I _like_."

He smirks, mildly amused. He would tell her later that these words, along with the way they were delivered, were among the first to truly spark his interest.

"I do not think that will be a problem," he counters. "Although, you _have_ convinced me that what I desire is more than our original bargain." He releases his fangs and stares into Peia's eyes, "You will give yourself to me, completely. You will release yourself to take seek pleasure in all we do tonight. Show me how you 'have a good time'," throwing her own words back.

"No."

"What?" He retracts his fangs in shock, irritated.

_Not another one who cannot be glamoured. What is the point?_

"That thing you just did – what was that about?"

"You are not meant to be able to say 'no'."

"Oh, so _that_ is what Gillian kept trying to do. I thought she was just trying out some bad hypnosis trick. She got frustrated and gave up eventually."

"Figures," He sighs.

Serious now, Peia looks Eric in the eye. "You cannot force me to enjoy this."

"You feel it would be a betrayal. _Something_ _bigger_ shared." Maybe he understands more than she thinks. "But there are no cameras, no recording devices. How could he know the difference?"

She just shakes her head and looks away.

"What do you want?" He is surprised how much he desires this.

"Don't ask. Please."

Guessing, "I will _kill_ her. You will have nothing left to fear." _This will cause him some trouble if others find out. He will have to be careful…_

She thinks a moment. _This is the one thing that could make the difference. No more running. She could go back._

"I don't know if I can," she says, truly skeptical.

"Try."

And with that he lifts her up, pushes her back against the wall and with a quick motion of his free hand pulls down his pants just enough and enters her. She gasps at the quickness of it – her body not yet ready. As he works his way deeper inside her body, he runs his lips down her neck while his hand gently strokes her breast.

He lifts his head back up and looks her in the eye.

"It cannot be undone now. Time to just let yourself _fuck_." He smiles devilishly and flicks an eyebrow at her.

An escape suddenly occurs to her. She imagines herself to be the most sexually adventurous character she has ever written. In truth, Mel was not terribly unlike herself, but this mental game allows her body to detach. _I am a character in one of my stories. I am fucking a tall, muscle-clad, handsome man. This is not real. _She repeats this over and over in time to his rhythm, smoother now that her body has released some moisture.

"If we are going to do this right, it's time for _you_ to get naked."

With a subtle smile, he lifts her up and sets her down in front of him before taking a step back. He quickly dispenses with his shirt, then pants, never taking his eyes off her.

So long and lean, his body looks like a statue with its chiseled perfection. Although most statues do not have an eye-catching erection, she muses to herself. Following her gaze, he grabs hold of it, sliding his hand up along the shaft to the head (a distance fitting his body, proportionally), where he pulls his foreskin down just enough to expose the pinkish tip.

He takes a step toward her and she holds out her hand with a finger pointing up to stop him, then pointing downward.

"Socks. I refuse to mount a man with socks."

He bends down to pull off the socks, but before he has the opportunity to stand back up after their removal, she takes a step toward him and boldly puts her hand behind his head and guides his face to her mound. He slides his hands over her hips and grips her ass on either side while he pushes his face forward, mouth open. She lets her hands rest on the top of his head, unable to prevent her legs from spreading a bit wider as his tongue begins to expertly stroke her inner lips. Shifting her pelvis ever-so-slightly, showing him the (sometimes mobile) spots of highest sensitivity, it only takes him a matter of seconds to zero in on where to focus. Suddenly, she feels her knees go at about the same time her mind goes blank with the intensity of pleasure he is giving her. He maintains his solid grip on her body as she starts to whimper and moan, completely unable to stop her body from coming too quickly – she would have preferred to wait a bit, but unusually she finds she has no control. _My vibrator has got nothing on the speed of this guy's tongue._

"_Holy shit." _She screams loudly as she grabs hold of the back of his head and presses her pelvis as hard as she can against his face, forcing his tongue into her convulsing hole. It suddenly occurs to her what would feel even better and she pulls away slightly and sinks down to her knees, shifting enough to take his cock in on her way down. He grunts his pleasure at finding himself inside her body again, this time more welcoming in warmth, wetness and now massaging waves of orgasmal contractions. In the haze of her climax, now winding down, she barely registers the sound of his fangs descending. Before her brain has a chance to make sense of it, he pulls her torso toward him and sinks his fangs into her neck with a guttural moan.

"Fuck," she couldn't help herself from blurting.

It hurt, though perhaps no more than she had expected. The feeling was raw and hot, but not stinging as she had feared. More surreal were the sounds he was making as he sucked down the blood in shallow gulps. She could feel his tongue, lapping the area where his teeth had opened up the wound – it felt almost massaging, even soothing. She wondered if this was reflex or if he only did this when he was with a lover.

After a minute or two, he stopped drinking, pushed her onto her back and pulled her legs up and around his waist. Then with half lidded eyes and bloodied lips, he began thrusting with growing force and quickening rhythm. If she hadn't been so wet, it might have been a bit too rough. Instead, after a few minutes, her body adjusted by directing more blood, causing her to swell enough to provide the necessary buffer. Soon every thrust pulled the skin around her clit taught, sending spikes of pleasure down her thighs. Eric straightened her legs so that her ankles were on either side of his neck and continued to pummel her. The first sign she saw that he was about to come was the tension in the muscles of his arms – his grunts were neither loud nor stifled, and altogether uninformative. A stiffness gripped his body and then suddenly his thrusts slowed down to a more human standard. His cock was as hard as an iron rod. His eyes closed, but then in the moment, they flashed open again and he finished with a series of quick thrusts so deep, they were, in truth, a bit painful for her. Of course, it did not matter because once his blood entered her body, it felt like a shot of heroine, the effect on her insides instantaneous. The spasms driving another monster orgasm made even more intense by the presence of his shaft still inside her – something to grip.

Eric rolled off her sweaty, limp body and said with only a little self satisfaction,

"I do not think you could have faked that."

The next round (and the next) took place in the little room with the bed. Although Peia tried hard to maintain her fictional persona, the more blood she lost (and more orgasms she had) the more her guard went down. And Eric, in order to maximize his own amusement, pushed at her mental boundaries, having already dismantled the physical ones.

At one point in the evening, Eric was on his back, Peia riding him slowly, sitting up tall, streaks of bright red blood dripping down toward her left breast from the freshly opened wound on her neck.

"Tell me something he does not know," Eric insists, gently.

"What?" Peia's eyes are half closed.

"You have secrets. Tell me."

Peia frowns, then opens her eyes and looks directly at Eric, their bodies still connected. _What does it matter?_

"I had children, once. Spike knows I was married, but he never asked beyond that."

"The scar," He responds, knowingly, running his finger along the horizontal c-section scar just above the line of her trimmed pubic hair.

She nods, "Spike never guessed."

"I have been with _many_ women," he offers in explanation. "Boys or girls?"

"Two boys. Another on the way."

She stops there and he leaves it, detecting a subtle change in her heart rate. He already got what he asked for.

After a brief motionless pause, Peia pulls up and sinks herself down on him, shifting her pelvis to maximize the friction, alternating the up and down motion with a twirling that teases her g-spot with the tip of his cock.

Eric reaches up and runs his fingers along the stream of blood stopping just short of her breast, smearing it gently onto her nipple. He takes in the view for a moment – pale skin, red blood, pink nipple – before sitting up enough to take her breast in his mouth, sucking gently, licking the blood off before leaving it, the nipple now erect and red.

Picking up the pace, Peia clenches her internal muscles, focusing on gripping him as tightly as she can. He grunts his pleasure at this new trick and begins meeting her thrusts with subtle ones of his own. Their motions get more and more furious, she seems desperate to escape back into this night. Soon her body is sweaty again, soon to release. Already, he knows her body well enough to be in control of the timing. He is also close, but as they pound each other toward yet another climax, he suddenly pauses.

"Tell me you love me," He hears himself insist.

"Fuck off," she responds, frustrated by being snatched away from the physical, wondering what sort of game he is playing now. "I don't fake and I don't lie."

"I do not ask for a lie. Pretend I am him and tell me as you would him."

She shakes her head, not comprehending the purpose in this.

"Why?"

"Because I wish it," He responds, honestly.

She frowns as if to say 'that's not good enough.'

"Please. I am curious."

Peia sees in his eyes that he is earnest. In that moment, she feels almost sorry for him. She sighs. After a moment, she closes her eyes, conjuring up an image of Spike. She pictures one of her favorite moments. He is looking at her like she is a fool, "I didn't ask you to come with me while I ran away, you silly git. I asked you to run away with me. See the difference?" Once the image of him is fixed in her mind, she opens her eyes, replacing Eric's face with Spike's and says the words, as requested,

"I love you."

Eric takes this in, but shows no discernable reaction.

Later that night, Pam lets herself into the office. Blood and sex in the air, she walks straight back to the little room where she knows she will find Eric. As she walks in, Eric is drinking from Peia's inner thigh. After taking a brief moment to appraise Peia's naked body, she starts talking.

"Hate to say it, but you really have to do something about Dwight tonight. I've tried reasoning with him, but he refuses to talk to anyone but you."

He gives Pam a polite finger indicating she wait a moment. He then moves his face from Peia's thigh to her pussy and quickly makes her come in just a few seconds. Peia seems barely conscious, but enough to let out a moan. Eric beckons Pam over and grabbing her hand, thrusts two of her fingers along with is own into Peia's body.

Eric looks at Pam, expectantly. Pam makes an impressed face.

"Shit, I imagine that must feel pretty good on a certain body part that I lack." She pushes her fingers in a little deeper (which prompts a slight gasp from Peia), "Warm apple pie with massaging fingers."

"It has been a surprisingly pleasant evening," He offers as he pulls his fingers out.

"What are we going to do about Dwight?"

"I'll talk to him," Eric replies, resigned. He starts pulling on some track pants.

"I should be gone less than an hour." Looking over at Peia, who appears to be asleep, "You can have a go if you like. I would not recommend taking too much blood – she is already on the edge."

"I can see that. Next time, maybe leave me more than the dregs." Pam says, mock annoyed.

"She still has some life in her," he responds.

"I am sure we can find _some_ way to pass the time," Pam sighs, giving her Maker a quick wink.

When Eric returns to the room, Pam is pulling down her skirt, her clothes generally disheveled. She walks over to her bag and pulls out a lipstick and starts touching herself up.

"How did it go?" She asks, rather uninterested.

"Fine. Seems our Bill has developed a bit of a Napoleon complex."

"He _is_ short."

"His guards got in some tiff with Dwight's people. I think it's settled now."

"Good." Glancing at Peia, she adds, "It'll be daylight soon. Want me to clean her up and get her out of here?"

"Not yet." He starts taking off his clothes and Pam infers his meaning, so she walks into the office and starts shuffling some papers, getting ready to head back to the townhouse before dawn.

Eric takes a moment, leisurely looking at Peia as she lay motionless on the bed, planning out the last hour of the night. He should give her a bit of blood to rouse her, then a bit more fucking, then it will be time for him to get back to ground before dawn. He is about to bite into his wrist when he hesitates, his eyes widening suddenly.

"Pam?" He calls into the next room.

Pam walks back toward the door.

"Yeah?" She responds when she gets to the entrance. She feels an odd twinge as she looks over to her Maker.

Wide eyed, Eric looks at her solidly and says,

"How do you feel about having a sister?"

Taken aback, she stammers, "Are you serious?"

"Yes. I think I am."

"Does it matter what I think?"

"Of course it does." _How could she think he would make this decision without consulting her?_

"What about Spike?" She asks with genuine concern.

"We can still help him. Find Drusilla and he won't give a second thought to _her_."

"Why this one?"

"I do not know exactly. Just a feeling. I think she would make a good addition."

Pam looks from Eric to Peia and back again. Obviously, they need to decide this right now – in the morning, she will be gone. Eric feels a bit dizzy with excitement and his feelings spill over to Pam.

"I'll have Jackson dig a hole out back. Meet you there in 30?" She smiles, despite herself.

"Chill some champagne for tomorrow night."

She nods and leaves.


	9. Chapter 9

_Author's Note: In doing some fact checking for this chapter, I came across some reminders of how the characters differ between the television show and the Southern Vampire Mysteries, mostly in terms of backstory. I would like to come clean once again that I have not read any of the books and so everything I know about Eric and Pam (etc.), I have either learned from the television series or have made up. I hope this does not totally annoy fans of the SVM, although I imagine it might! Also, if I do get something from the television series unforgivingly wrong, feel free to e-mail me (). Actually, any feedback would be most welcome!_

**Chapter** **9**

_**Back**__**to**__**the**__**present (i.e., jump forward 8 months)**_

Pam emerges from the office and walks toward Peia, who is still sitting at the bar, lost in her own thoughts. She had helped herself to a drink, but has not touched it. Pam stops next to the stool Peia is sitting on and stares at her without speaking for a disconcerting minute, a skeptical frown on her face.

"Eric tells me you are family, but I am not at _all_ clear whether to bite you or take you shopping. And that kind of ambiguity pisses me off."

"I could use some new clothes." Peia offers.

"That's no secret, honey. But okay then. We're going shopping."

Pam walks over to the cash register and pulls out a wad of cash.

"But don't get all gooey on me. We're not sisters yet. I'm doing this because I could use a new set of wedges and it will make Eric happy. Not to mention that I would be mortified for anyone to think we are related with you dressed like _that_." She circles her hand in Peia's direction as she utters the last word.

Peia suppresses a smile as she slides off the stool and follows Pam out the door.

A few hours later at Fangtasia, a woman holds a picture up to the bartender, who glances at it, shakes his head nervously and nods toward Eric who is sitting in his usual place. The woman acknowledges the suggestion, but takes a slow turn around the club, scanning faces, before approaching him. She wears a decorative headscarf, wrapped too loosely over her head to be a cultural requirement, but rather gives the impression of the wearer being slightly out of time or place. Her features are vaguely European, with strong eyebrows, long, narrow nose and delicate chin. Hair and eyes matching browns, she could be from anywhere. In fact, she had spent her youth in the city of Tbilisi back when it was a growing city, the new capital of Iberia, an insignificant cousin of King Ujarmeli. Fifteen hundred years had all but erased her memories of the city of her birth, but the formality of her (vaguely) royal upbringing remains in her countenance and stature.

She quietly observes the bartender finding an excuse to deliver the message to Eric, noting his reaction. Not an easy one to read, but she feels confident that he must know something. Why else would the bartender bother alerting him? At this point, she decides to learn more, she must address this vampire directly. She hesitates, momentarily embarrassed by her folly. He need not know her urgency. She does have other business here. Convincing herself, finally, to go forward with her indulgence, she glances up to see that Eric has left his chair. In a moment he is in front of her.

"I am told you are looking for someone. Perhaps I can be of assistance?" To her hear, his polite indifference sounds perhaps a bit over-rehearsed.

Proximity permits Eric to sense her age and his suspicion is somewhat overwhelmed by deference.

"Have you seen this human? I was told she might have travelled here. She was last seen in southern California."

She hands him the picture. It is of Peia, sitting in front of the door of a club, as a bouncer would, looking tough with a thin silver chain wrapped around her upper arm.

"Sorry," He responds, stifling any sign of recognition. "I would be happy to keep the picture as reference in case she appears."

The woman nods, hiding her disappointment well.

"What is your business with this human?" Eric decides to ask, feeling it expected.

"It is a personal matter. Unimportant. Thank you." She tries a bit too hard to hide her embarrassment.

"And yet you travelled from California to find her?" Eric responds, skeptical.

_Something in his tone piques. He_ _knows_ _her_.

"I have other business here." Her spirits lifted by this glimmer of hope.

"With the King?"

She thinks a moment – she had not even bothered to investigate the politics of this region before initiating her journey. Who did they put on the throne to replace Sophie Anne? She shakes it off – whoever, they are insignificant. She closes her eyes a moment to see the page in The Book she needs. Opening her eyes, she responds,

"On the contrary. I believe my business is with you. Am I speaking with Eric Northman, Viking, turned on the date 982 AD by the Maker, Godric?"

Eric's eyes widen slightly. She is a Recorder. He had never met one before. Somehow, he expected someone with more of a librarian look to them.

"Yes. I am honored…"

"My name is Dali. I _Record_ the continent North America. Do you have time to meet now, or shall I return tomorrow?"

"I will make time now. May I get you something? You will find I have much to offer."

She responds in exaggerated formality, "I require only your cooperation and honesty. The integrity of The Book depends on it."

He looks her up and down, before saying with curiosity and awe "Where is it?"

"Oh, The Book. Left it in the car." _Probably_ _should_ _not_ _have_ _done_ _that_. _In_ _too_ _much_ _of_ _a_ _rush_ _to_ _find_ _Peia_. "Do you have an office where we can meet in a moment?"

Eric nods, indicating the appropriate door. She nods and disappears for a second, returning with a large, woven bag. They walk to the office. Once there, Eric nervously clears off a space on the desk and rushes to find a comfortable chair for Dali to sit on. She nods in appreciation, pulling out The Book, along with a peculiar looking pen and seal, setting everything on the desk. Eric waits patiently, unsure what someone from this ancient vampire order would need from him.

She flips through The Book, finding the necessary page. In gold lettering at the top are the words "True Death" in Latin.

"It is rumored that you were present at a number of significant true deaths of late. We require witness, not rumors to complete the entries. Although, any veritable information would be invaluable to the accuracy of The Book."

Suddenly Eric looks nervous, overwhelmed by the presumed content.

"Everything is in there?" He says, staring at the oversized, leather bound book in front of him.

"Not everything. Of course there are many volumes. We are not magicians. But somehow The _Books_ sounds kind of clunky."

"Right."

"Lets jump right in with Godric." Dali is staring down at the entry when she asks with indifferent formality, "Can you, Eric Northman, confirm this final death?"

"Yes," he responds with some emotion.

"Were there witnesses?" She looks up from the book as she asks this.

"I was there."

Having not confirmed this prior, she offers, "I am sorry. Seeing the death of one's Maker is a pain I would never wish on anyone, despite Our need for witness."

She writes something in The Book, then asks, "Mode of death?"

"Sunlight."

She makes a note. Then without looking up, "Murder, suicide or accidental?"

"Does it matter?" He pleads, the words catching in his throat.

"It does."

After a moment, he is able only to say, "Self…"

She nods her understanding, makes a note in The Book. Looking up, she says,

"You should not feel shame in this. Many of the old ones meet their final death this way. They say we are immortal and yet, the limit to our existence proves often to be ourselves." Seeing the pain in his face, the hint of tears in his eyes, she decides to add, "My Maker did the same. Someday you will stop blaming him for this choice."

He looks away from her before responding, "Is there anything else?"

"Oh yes. First, I need your signature in blood." She hands him what appears to be an ink jar. Off of his confused look, she adds, "There are a few more. Best extract enough blood for all the signatures at once."

He takes a small knife she hands him, cuts across his wrist and then pours the stream into the jar before the wound heals.

"Next up, The Magister." She says with a hint of anticipation.

Eric's eyes widen. He has yet to be called out on his role in this. He stumbles a moment before mumbling, "I…uh.."

Understanding his likely concern, "We do not pass judgment and we do not share information with the AVL if that is your concern. The Order of Records was in existence long before the AVL, long before the Authority. We operate with autonomy."

Eric nods and responds, "I was witness to the final death of the Magister."

"Mode of death?"

"Beheading. Murder."

She nods, writing it down. She then flips to an entirely different section of the book.

"What of Russell Edgington?"

"I can confirm that the former King of Mississippi has not met the final death."

"I see. And his consort and offspring, Talbot?"

_Awkward_.

"I was witness to his death. Stake to the heart. Murder."

"Right." She utters under her breath as she writes it all down.

"And while we are on the subject of royalty, what of Sophie Anne Leclerq?"

"I was not witness to that. Bill Compton could likely supply you with additional information on that. _King_ Bill was present at her final death."

"We do not accept the signatures of any vampire under the age of 500. However, I will make a note. _Likely_ _Regicide_."

Dali turns The Book around, with her fingers marking each page that needs Eric's signature. He dips the pen in the well and signs each indicated page in his own blood.

"Is there anything else I can help you with?" He asks as he helps turn The Book back around.

She hesitates just a moment, again trying to access something from her memory. She flips to a particular page. He cannot help but see his name listed.

"You have been very helpful. Do you have any living offspring, Mr. Northman?"

"Yes. Pam Swynford De Beaufort. Why?" He hopes he knows, but does not dare mention the possibility. He notes that she does not move the hand now holding the official pen.

"She has been with you some time?"

"Over 100 years."

Dali takes this in, seeing the pride and devotion in Eric's eyes.

"She will be _Recorded_." Dali states without emotion.

No one knows exactly what criteria the Order of Records uses to determine which vampires get in The Book and which come and go without mention. Certainly age is significant. But there have always been rumors that certain accomplishments might get you an entry in _The Book_. It is considered a great honor to be mentioned – a coveted distinction, granting a different kind of immortality.

Eric can't stop himself from smiling, "Thank you."

Dali nods, "Spell her name for me." She follows his dictation and then asks for and writes down the date of her turning. At just over 100, Pam would be borderline in terms of inclusion, up to the discretion of the Recorder. But Eric's line has been marked by longevity and his cooperation tonight inspired Dali to make the call. Once the entry is finished, she turns the book around again and indicates where he should sign. He glances up the page and notes with some sadness the signature of Godric next to his own name. She takes The Book back and begins to stamp each altered page with a seal, damp with fresh blood from her wrist. Eric just watches, quietly, waiting for the moment when he can call Pam and tell her the news. Dali begins packing up her things.

"Please, let me get you some blood. We have a particularly tasty delivery boy." Eric offers.

She does not acknowledge the offer, but instead says as she adjusts her head scarf and pulls the bag strap over her shoulder,

"She is…_well_?"

Eric looks confused – _Pam_? Dali glances at the picture of Peia on the desk and looks back up at Eric.

"Mostly." He hopes he is not making a mistake by this acknowledgment.

"I only wish to know she is safe."

He nods affirmatively, still wary of her motive.

Feeling a connection and sensing his protectiveness, she adds, "I wanted to help her. But it was not my place to interfere. There are things going on in that Area…" She shakes her head, letting the sentence dangle. What does a Sheriff in Louisiana care about vampire politics in California?

Neither of them say anything more, and yet both are satisfied with the information given.

Later, Eric produces the picture Dali had given him for Peia back at the townhouse.

"Nice chain."

"I told you, I was a bouncer in a bar frequented by vampires and _things_. I needed to look badass. Expectations, remember?" She explains.

"A vampire was looking for you tonight at Fangtasia."

"Male or female?" Peia asks with some concern.

"Female."

"It's probably just my stalker," she responds with relief. "Was her name Dolly?"

"Dali. D-a-l-i"

"Oh, that makes so much more sense." She always thought Dolly was an odd name for a vampire.

"She is your stalker?" He asks, skeptically.

"Well, a _literary_ stalker. She first showed up at a "meet the authors" event back in Nyack. Then Spike and I would see her every now and again when we were traveling and then she seemed to settle in California. Never spoke more than a few words to me, but she was just _there_ a lot. I was worried for a while that she might pull a Kathy Bates – it's the quiet ones you have to watch out for. In the end, she rescued me."

"Rescued you? From who?" Eric asks, perplexed because of what Dali had told him.

"From _what_. The hospital." She explains, "The ones who tased me – once they realized they'd knocked me out, they brought me to the hospital. Well one thing you should know about me if we're going to….er… if we're going to be spending time together, never _EVER_ take me to a hospital." She shudders visibly at the thought of it. "Just the smell of the place will make me lose my shit. Nothing like 20 years in hell to sensitize someone. Anyway, I lost it and they just kept pumping me full of tranquilizers and strapping me down. I still can't believe Spike let them do it. Maybe he didn't know." She shakes her head to brush off the thought before continuing. "So the next time my head was clear enough to think, I found myself with her – she was living in a tricked out crypt in the graveyard. Still, any place was better than the hospital. I owe her."

"The ones who hurt you – what were they, vampires? Wolves? Witches?" Seems odd for vampires to take someone to the hospital.

"No. I think they called themselves _Slayers_."


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10**

Days pass. Peia falls into a routine of sorts. She leaves the townhouse before sundown, runs in the woods, cries at the lake, returns in time to take a shower before Eric stirs. She notes exactly where along her route the uneasiness begins – is it the distance or the time? Maybe tomorrow she will ask to take the car. It always starts in the pit of her stomach, just a twinge at first. The twinge becomes a permeating mixture of anxiety and sadness that soon spreads throughout. By the time she reaches the lake, she feels heavy, as if she is running through molasses. Is it better today? Maybe a bit. Maybe she will not need to cry so long or so hard. Sometimes she swims afterwards, the cool water relieving the burning in her eyes. Once she has purged the sadness and turns to head back down the path to the woods, to the road, to the city, her thoughts turn to Eric. She wants to see him, to feel him, the same as usual and more. And yet, there has not been more. They sleep in the same bed, they bathe in the same bath. They are rarely out of each other's sight. She comes to Fangtasia every night, wandering, watching. Even observing quietly when he conducts "vampire business" with Pam and the others. And yet, nothing has been spoken about the future, about what he might expect, about what she might be willing to give. But it is there. She knows. His patience is beyond what she had expected. _He_ is beyond what she had expected. And yet she cannot stop her logical mind wondering how much of this is real. Can it even _be_ real?

One night, as Eric prepares to go out, she tells him she needs to run some errands and takes a car. She drives to Merlott's. She goes straight to the bar, orders a drink and scans the room for Jessica. She waves her over and asks if they can talk during her next break. A while later, Jessica sits down next to Peia at the bar.

"I'm so excited that you stopped by. It's been a bit dull around here."

"Would it be alright if I asked you some _vampire_ questions?" Peia starts, almost sheepishly.

"Sure. I guess. What for?" _Isn't she living with a vampire?_

"I am working on a new story and I realized I don't know much about the Maker-offspring relationship," she lies.

"But your last one had that in, didn't it?"

"Yeah, but I was kind of writing out of my butt. I'd like to get a better understanding."

"Ok. I'd love to help."

"Your Maker is Bill?"

"Yep. King Bill, now." She giggles.

"How would you describe your relationship with him?"

"Oh, he's been great. Like a dad. Better than my real one, honestly. He showed me how to take care of myself and he looks out for me."

"So you are close."

"Sure. I can talk to him about my problems and he tries to help and all."

"Did you ever have any romantic feelings…?"

"Oh gawd, no. He is way too old," crinkling up her nose.

"Oh. I just kind of assumed there was usually some attraction."

"Aw, that's just in the movies. I mean, I'm sure it happens sometimes. You know, if there was an attraction _before_."

"But the process involves drinking a lot of their blood, right? Couldn't that affect your…er… _feelings_?"

"That just happens when humans drink vampire blood. Once you're dead, which is part of the Making process, I don't think it applies. I mean, I can honestly say I have never had a sexual thought about Bill, conscious or otherwise."

Sookie overhears them and comes over.

"Bill was _involved_ with his Maker for a long time, the crazy bitch. The way he tells it, it was basically _expected_. And then there was Russell and his boy toy – they were like 'gay married' for a really long time. He was pretty broken up when I put Talbot down the disposal."

"What?" Peia asks, confused.

"Long story. Still, hard to say. I mean, Eric was totally broken up when his Maker burned up, but he was a guy and Eric is definitely not gay. And Pam is totally gay, right, so it's not like she and Eric are a thing. Hey, is that why you are asking? Are you jealous of Pam?"

"What? No, I…"

"She's working on a story."

"Just gathering information."

"Have you talked to Eric? I mean, he's like a thousand years old so he probably knows more than us newbies about these things."

Sookie hears Peia's thoughts: _That would be awkward. Jeez a thousand years old? He's older than Yoda._

Sookie leans in closer to Peia to whisper, "Did you drink Eric's blood? Because honestly, that can give you certain…_thoughts_."

"Nah, I just…"

Sookie hears some scattered words/thoughts and blurts out in response as her mind races.

"You are _not_ going to let Eric turn you into a vampire are you?"

Jessica's eyes light up and she whispers in a gossipy tone "OMG, has he offered?"

"Jessica!" Sookie chastises.

"What? It's not such a bad thing." Jessica responds, defensively.

Sookie hears: _As if I had a choice… _

Peia, not wanting to reveal too much, decides to admit to the lesser scandal.

"Back to the fact checking, IF a human were to drink a vampire's blood, about how long will the….er…_effects_ last?"

Jessica looks at Sookie, expectantly. Sookie acts a bit embarrassed and a little flustered to be asked so explicitly.

"What?" She says, defensively.

Just then, Sookie hears Sam's thoughts, who had obviously been listening in, too: _a month or so_.

She thinks, _OMG, Sam had dreams about Bill. Ew!_

"About a month. Maybe two," Sookie responds, finally.

"Oh. Not too long, then," Peia says, oddly relieved.

"You should talk to Pam. About the Maker thing. She knows a lot," Jessica offers, not wanting to say what she really thinks in front of Sookie.

Peia nods, before getting up to go. "Thanks. This has been helpful."

Back at the townhouse, Peia is surprised to find Eric sitting on the couch, with his feet up, looking at a magazine.

"Slow night?" She asks.

"Painful. Had to go out to eat. Did not feel like returning." He responds, putting the magazine down.

She walks over to the "kitchen" and puts the electric kettle on. Every step away from him takes effort.

"Can I use the car again tomorrow? I'd like to get a computer."

Eric nods without comment.

"I received some information today. Perhaps you might be interested."

"Yeah?"

"Turn's out, your name is _not_ Peia."

"That, I knew."

"I have been aware of that fact for some time. But what I found out today is that your name is also _not_ Jen Cotter."

_He has been digging_. _I wonder how far…._

"Well, that may be a matter of opinion. I have used that name for a number of years."

"Your name is Carolyn Reed."

"Nearly. That was my married name." She responds without emotion.

"You were in a car accident, killing your family and leaving you in a coma. Drunk driver. After 19 years and 4 months, you woke up. Inexplicably. Doctors were baffled."

"And the rest is history. Can we be done with this now?"

"The woman who caused the accident – she petitioned to keep you on life support and paid your medical bills when your family was ready to let you go."

"I don't know why you went to the trouble. If you had asked, I would have told you."

Eric continues, "She died just days after you woke up. The hospital staff reported that she had been coming to see you religiously once a week."

"I never met her. Never spoke to her. I couldn't tell you what she looked like. I think I know her voice, like a recurring dream. She left me a note."

"And?"

"She was a gypsy – sorry, Roma. Lapsed, outcast. An alcoholic. After she recovered from the accident – she had been relatively unscathed – she was consumed by guilt for what she had taken from me. She said she wanted to give me another life, another chance. It took her years to find a solution – some dark magic that allowed her to transfer her life force to me, over a period of time. She aged while I grew younger. She wanted to be sure I would be young enough to start another life – have another family. So she found some magic that would make it so. She gave all she had and it worked. I woke up and she died of old age. She was not a master of such things – in her letter, she couldn't tell me how things would progress after it was done. She knew only that at the least, I would have her life to live, maybe more."

"So there is magic in you already."

"Apparently."

_That is why she did not turn._ _Could this magic be too powerful to overcome?_

"Did you ever try to find out more – to contact her sources?"

"No. I just…left. I don't know her name. She didn't sign the letter." Peia pauses a moment before saying, almost under her breath, "I am living her life and I don't even know her name."

_So he knows everything. Well, almost everything._

Peia makes herself some tea. She hates thinking about the past. It exhausts her. Sipping from the mug, she looks down at him on the couch and hears herself say,

"Tell me something about yourself. Something no one else knows."

"What sort of thing?"

"I don't know. Anything. Where you come from, your human family…" She is suddenly embarrassed that she has never asked him anything. She knows so little.

"I do not remember them."

"Ok, then something else." She shrugs, mildly annoyed by what she perceives as evasion.

"No, that is it. I do not remember them. I can hear my father's voice as he died, telling me what to do. Only recently was I able to fulfill his wishes and since the voice has already faded. I cannot picture my mother's face. I wonder if I would even recognize her. Even in dreams, she is always just out of reach, facing away, only her hair…" He moves his hand as if he is touching it as he says this.

"Do you want to remember?"

He shrugs. "What I want does not matter. It is this way."

The next day, Eric has an errand that brings him into contact with Sookie. She cannot stop herself from asking what is going on with Peia.

"So is she staying?"

"I do not know," Eric responds, uneasy to be discussing this with her.

"Well, did you _ask_ her to stay?"

"She knows she is welcome to stay."

"But did you actually say those words to her? Have you told her you want her to stay?"

"She is aware I would prefer it if she stayed."

"How could she know if you didn't tell her?"

"Not everything needs to be discussed."

"Uh, hello, this is a woman we are talking about. Stop being so pig headed and _tell_ her."

"You know nothing of this. She is family. These things do not need to be mentioned."

"She's not a _vampire_, last I checked."

"Neither is she a human."

"What?"

"Nevermind."

"I'm just saying that you should talk to her."

"This is not one of your silly romance novels; I am not _wooing_ her. I am _not_ Bill."

"Well don't come crying to me when she hits the road, then."

He is suddenly flustered by the idea that Peia might leave.

"She will not leave. I will not let her. She _must_ stay. Why am I even having this conversation?"

"So you are going to keep her here, against her will. Really? How romantic eye roll I don't know why I am surprised…."

"I, uh, we do not _know_ it is against her will." Eric is startled by the force of his reaction.

"So you would rather she wanted to stay?"

"It would be preferable if she _chose_ to stay."

"'It would be preferable?' (mocking him) Gawd, you are hopeless. Do you want her to want to stay or not?"

"Perhaps. Yes. (pause) I would prefer to not have to force her to stay."

"Alrighty, then. Now we are getting somewhere."

"You are going to tell me how to make this happen, I suppose?" Pretending to be annoyed, but actually interested in what she might suggest.

"Make an effort. If you are too emotionally closed off to actually talk to her, then try a gesture. Do something that will make it clear you want her to feel welcome, that you are interested in the long haul."

He takes this in. Perhaps it is not an awful idea.

"I could buy a refrigerator," He suggests.

Sookie makes a face.

"On the right track, but a little _cold_. Pardon the pun."

In the end, they settle on a full sized electric blanket. Practical, but a tad _warmer_. Pun intended.

The next night, Peia tells Eric she will meet him at Fangtasia. She would like a walk to clear her head. Once he has left, she spends some time going through her old bag – the few items she brought with her from California on that awful night. She looks at the picture that Dali left with Eric and tries to pull together a similar look, supplemented with the things she bought with Pam.

_I should get Daisy to send me some things. _

Daisy was a seamstress and a sometimes designer. 'Sometimes' because she often got bored with fashion. She had a small shop near Santa Barbara. They met at the bar where Peia worked as a bouncer after Spike left town. Daisy had come to see the band that played almost every Saturday at Hive. That same night happened to be one where Peia had to throw a vampire out of the bar for 'disorderly conduct'. Daisy was outside having a smoke and saw the whole thing. It was one of many proper fights Peia would come to have with the local bloodsuckers. In the beginning, it was all about keeping the bar safe. Later, the vamps would come just to fight, testing her.

When it was over and the guy had scampered off, Peia was steading herself against the dumpster, feeling dizzy from the adrenaline when she heard a voice.

"Are you alright? Veronica?"

It took her a moment to realize the woman was talking to her. She looked up and saw the woman was tentatively coming towards her.

"Yeah. Fine. Just a bit shaky," Peia replies, wiping some sweat off her forehead.

She _was_ okay. The first time she was punched in the face by an unruly patron a few weeks prior, she was shocked by how much it did not hurt. Not like it should have. She had to stretch her memory to confirm that punches used to hurt a lot more. She had been hit in college during an impromptu ice hockey game that turned ugly – a rare occurrence in women's hockey, but something that happened on occasion. _That_ hurt. But now it takes considerably more. Once she realized this, everything changed.

The woman holds out a cigarette and at first Peia waves it off, but then after a brief pause, takes it. She puts it in her mouth and the women tosses her a lighter.

"Thanks," Peia says as she lights the cigarette.

"I'm Daisy. You're Veronica?"

"Veronica? I think you might have me confused…?"

"Oh, isn't that just what you told that…_guy_?"

Peia had to think a moment – they did always seem to want to know her name. "Who are you?", which was really code for "what are you" once she started kicking their asses, but most were too polite to go there. She had decided it would be fun to make up something different every time. This time, when this one asked, she said, "You can call me anything you like, but my name is Veronica" just because it seemed to fit the rhythm of their fight. Giving away her age a bit with that one, perhaps.

"Right. Sure, call me Veronica." And hence yet another alias was born.

Daisy gives her a good scan as she takes a drag.

"Those clothes look a little stiff for fighting."

"Yeah, I haven't figured that out yet. I'm not a fan of the track suit, but jeans can be a bit restrictive."

"Maybe I can help you out with that," Daisy responds with a glimmer.

As it happens, Daisy thought the challenge of making clothes for a bouncer was an ideal way to spend her free time. She fancied herself dressing a modern superhero, extrapolating up significantly._ Who gets to do that?_ So they talked. Peia told her about who and what she would need to fight. Daisy thought about how Peia should look and what kinds of clothes might provide comfort and convenient bonuses, e.g., pockets for weapons or chains. They developed a good working relationship.

Looking at herself in the mirror, frowning slightly, Peia says under her breath,

"It's the best I can do now, Daisy. Hopefully no one will have a camera."

She is wearing a deep purple, slim fitting sleeveless tee with black cargo-type pants that conform closely to her lower body, the bottom half covered by tall leather boots. A small black jacket covers her upper arms, the left of which is wrapped in a mid-sized silver chain. Her hair is loosely styled and she is wearing a touch more make-up than usual.

Peia arrives at the club an hour later, after taking a bit of a walkabout in Shreveport. She watches Pam for a moment, who is giving orders to the bartender and then nods toward Peia as she passes to take up her post at the front door. Peia scans the room – it is a busy night. She find's Eric and walks toward him. When he sees her, she smiles coyly. She stops and stands just in front of his chair.

"Dressing the part, I see?" He observes, approvingly.

"I am here to apply for a job. I think you could use a good bouncer in this place. Someone to keep things in order."

"Is that so?" He smiles, pleased at the implication.

"Absolutely. And today is your lucky day because I have loads of experience."

"Aren't you a little young and a little _human_ to be a bouncer in a vampire club?" Eric responds, playing along.

"Yes. Yes, I am. But I have good references. And I'll work for cheap – a place to stay and the odd sexual favor should do me just fine."

Eric stands up, takes hold of her arm lightly and directs her as he says,

"Perhaps we should discuss the terms of our arrangement privately."

Once they get to the office, he slips his hand around the back of her neck, pulling her tight to him. She looks him in the eye,

"God, you are so _tall_."

He leans over, tilts her chin up with his hand and kisses her. After an intense few seconds, she pulls away briefly, feeling her knees weaken.

"You sure know how to take away a girl's balance."

"Have I not kissed you before?"

"No. I would have remembered."

He is surprised.

"I must have thought of it. _After_." _And_ _often_.

They kiss again and he pulls off her jacket. As his hand reaches for her shoulders, he notices the silver chain still wrapped tightly round her bicep.

"Are you going to take that off?"

"Sorry. I just started a new job at a pretty tough vampire club," She smirks.

Just as she is about to unravel the chain, there is a knock at the door. A man's voice shouts,

"There's some vamp here looking for Peia."

"It's probably just Dali again. I should go out and say 'hi'. I owe her a bit of time. Then we can get out of here?"

"Or, we could stay," Eric says as he glances back toward the little room with the bed.

She smiles her approval as she extricates herself from his arms. She leaves with a ridiculous grin on her face, feeling euphoric. Eric heads to the little room to prepare it.

Peia scans the club, looking for Dali. Instead she sees a very angry looking vampire glaring at her from across the room. It is the Sheriff from California.

"_Motherfucker_. Are we really going to do this _now_, Bruce?"

"What's the matter? Sunrise too far off this time?"

_No, I just really want to get laid_, she whines to herself.

From inside the little room in the office, Eric hears a loud crash.

…


	11. Chapter 11

_Warning: This chapter contains some sexually explicit language & situations._

**Chapter 11**

By the time Eric appears in the main room of the club to see what is causing the ruckus, Peia has drawn Bruce out the door and into the back alley. A path of broken glass and overturned tables leads the way. As he passes through the door, the first thing Eric notices is Pam cornered by men dressed in the standard AVL enforcer garb. He looks up to see Peia and a vampire he does not recognize engaged in combat. Just as he is about to take a step forward to intervene, an arm juts out to block his way.

"Don't even think about it," Nan Flanagan growls. "This is a sanctioned confrontation."

Confused, Eric takes another moment to survey the scene. Both ends of the alleyway are lined by AVL guards. There is a van with blacked out windows parked on the perpendicular street, blocking the entrance from that side.

"It'll take more than your arm to keep me out of this," Eric responds with just enough threat.

"Yeah, I know. I am not a moron. But in the interest of discretion, I thought I would give you the chance to listen to reason before bringing out the silver. Of which, rest assured, we have plenty."

Before responding, Eric assesses the urgency of the situation. Peia appears to be nearly stationary in the middle of the alley. The vampire she is fighting flashes towards her and then with just a quick turn of her body, Peia uses his momentum to toss him back against the opposite wall. This happens over and over again, making it appear as if the vampire is intentionally running into the walls of the alley. For the moment, anyway, she is holding her own, not in immediate danger. So in the interest of not pissing off the AVL, he decides to hear what Nan has to say.

"Who is he and why is he "confronting" _my_ human?" Eric responds with steely calm and careful emphasis.

"Oh, she's yours, is she? Under different circumstances that might complicate things, but this is too important. Ownership will not be considered."

"Explain why I should accept this _violation_."

"Bruce is Sheriff of Area 27 in California. A fucking nightmare district – relations are extremely tense between the King and the AVL. Tense enough that the Authority has directed us to reach an understanding at all costs."

"What does that have to do with her?"

"I'm getting there. He claims she killed one of his deputies and wanted special dispensation to kill her. There have been rumors of humans with unnatural strength in that district – something we have been wanting to investigate, so we agreed to stage a fair fight. He gets a chance at revenge, we get to observe. Win win, everyone is happy. He must have known he wouldn't be able to get to her with you in the way."

"You will not let him kill her."

Nan watches the fight for a moment before responding.

"It looks like he won't get the chance. And that means she is more valuable to us alive than dead."

"I will not let you take her."

"Difficult as this may be for you to understand, Viking, there are more important things in this world than your penis. Find another human - there are literally billions to pick from."

Eric contemplates telling Nan the truth, but holds back. He is mesmerized by the fight before him. _She is setting him up. She looks like she is entirely on the defensive, but she is maneuvering him into position. She takes the moments when he is recovering from one of his collisions with the wall to scan the alley for weapons and plot the slow game._

Peia, surprised by her own serenity (considering the situation), feels strong and in control. She has not noticed the character of the crowd, nor would she have any idea who they were if she had. She is in the zone. That she would feel more in control than the last time they fought was to be expected; but to feel stronger than she had ever felt was not. She is almost giddy.

"Tired of hitting walls? Such a shame for you to come all this way, only to get your ass handed to you."

Bruce stops charging her a moment, realizing (albeit slowly) the futility of this approach.

"_I _don't get tired. I could do this all night," he spits.

"That's not what she said. Oh, snap," she giggles.

He runs directly toward the wall behind her and runs up a few steps, pushing off to try to get at her from above. She is able to grab him as he lands on her and control the roll using the force of his body to propel them such that she lands on top when their momentum runs out. He rolls out from under her and stands up, backing away.

"Just so you know, this is your strike three, so if I get the chance to kill you, I will," Peia informs him bluntly.

"Unlikely."

They fight some more, etc. etc. She positions some broken crates, a metal rake and a rug.

"Are you afraid to die, little girl?" He asks when he momentarily thinks he has the upper hand.

"Really? _That's_ your line? Kind of clichéd."

She is able to squirm out of the temporary hold he had on her before he can bite.

"But to answer your question. No. Not particularly afraid to die. But, I was really looking forward to getting laid later, so it's definitely not going to be tonight."

More epic fighting as before. Finally, she is able to position him exactly right. She whacks him on the side of the head with a crate, as he spins around, she yanks the silver chain off her arm and whips it toward him such that it wraps around his neck. She yanks it, pulling him to the ground on the rug. She pulls the rug around and grabs the metal rake, heaving it over her head and crashing it down such that the prongs pierce his neck and grab hold of the rug underneath. He is pinned and bleeding profusely. She looks around for another piece of wood to finish the job.

Nan nods to two men standing off to the side. Before Peia can get what she needs, she looks up to see two vamps rushing her.

Eric looks pissed, "What the fuck, Nan?"

"Lets just see what she can do," She responds casually.

Eric looks nervous as he watches Peia take on the duo. She is able to hold them off, in the same defensive manner she used against Bruce. But this takes all her concentration – no time for banter, she is all focus. After some time, she appears to take the upper hand, but it could still go either way. Fearing for her safety, Eric decides to share the truth.

"Nan, it is not what you think. She is my offspring."

"What are you talking about, she's human."

"There is no time to explain. Call them off."

"No," she scowls. Then adds, "My god, she's winning. The Authority is definitely going to be interested in this."

"Listen to me. She is not a threat. Her strength comes from me."

Nan turns to frown at Eric, but seeing the earnest look on his face, considers his words.

"Fine. If she is your offspring, get her to stop."

At that moment, Peia has one of the vampires pinned and is about to impale him with a broom handle.

Eric's eyes go wide. _If she kills one, we will be trapped._ He closes his eyes, concentrating and mentally calls to Peia as he would to Pam. "_STOP_."

Peia hesitates mid-swing, tossing the weapon off to the side, looking like she had just been struck by lightening. She looks over toward Eric in confusion. At that moment, the vamp that had been on the ground, bounces up and punches Peia hard in the face before Nan holds up her hands to stop the fight. Peia reels backward from the force of the blow, stopped by the wall behind. Unfortunately, she had positioned a broken shipping pallet against that wall and a spike of wood pierces her through the back, the tip poking through just under her right breast. The pain causes her knees to buckle and she falls forward onto her side, hitting the ground with a thud. _Fuck that hurts. _Tears involuntarily swell in her eyes.

Eric rushes over to her.

"Are you alright?" He asks with true concern.

"I was doing pretty well until you jumped inside my head," she gasps through teeth gritted in pain.

"You were amazing, truly. But I had to stop you. I will explain later."

She nods, trusting him. She can feel it getting harder to breath as the blood fills her right lung.

"I think I need a Guinness," she tries to joke as she writhes on the ground. More serious, she looks at Eric, "Or something stronger."

Eric nods, drops his fangs and goes to open a wound on his wrist.

"No." Nan demands, nodding to some men holding a thick silver chain.

"Why?" Eric asks, truly surprised since he sees the matter as settled.

"We need to observe her natural healing process."

"But I was able to stop her. That proves it."

"Even if she were your…er…_offspring_, she wouldn't be old enough to fight off Bruce. Or the others. They'll want us to bring her in."

"You have got to be kidding me," Peia whispers in disappointment. Just before she passes out.

Peia wakes up with a jolt to find herself laying down on the floor of a van, her wrists handcuffed behind her back. She is still in pain, her clothes wet with blood, her head throbbing. Soon her eyes are able to focus on her surroundings. The van is empty except for herself and Eric, who she sees is sitting on a bench with his arms wrapped in silver chains, his wrists with individual silver cuffs hooked to a hanging rail on either side of his head. His eyelids look heavy. She tries to speak, mustering only a whisper.

"Eric?" He looks over to her. "I'm cold."

She wishes she could say more, but these are the only words she can force out.

"Your legs are not secured. Come closer to me," he commands with some effort.

It takes a while to inch her way across the floor toward the bench. Each movement brings sharp pains and exhausted weakness. After what seems like an eternity, she finds herself at Eric's feet.

"Closer," he insists.

She moans, thinking it an impossible task. Gritting her teeth, she forces her body to sit up enough so she can push with her legs and soon finds herself straddling Eric on the bench. She looks up at him. He smiles weakly and drops his fangs.

"Kiss me."

Just before her lips reach his, his fangs slice open his tongue, freeing the blood. In the seal of their kiss, his blood flows into her. She has no memory of drinking from him before – she had been nearly unconscious the last time. And she had refused when he had offered since. But now, this liquid frees every pleasure buried in her damaged body and makes her want to disappear into him. Soon feeling whole, she breaks the kiss and lets herself drop off the bench, lowering her head to his waist. She is able to wrestle the buckle of his pants free with her mouth, finishing by pulling down his zipper. She lets her open mouth slide up his released shaft on her way back up, pressing her tongue against the cool, hard flesh. Standing, she positions herself close to his face so that he can do the same for her – he has to rip her pants to provide sufficient access. Quickly, she lowers herself onto him, moaning as he slides smoothly inside. They grind together, awkward but determined without the use of their hands. Just as things are really heating up, the van goes over a large bump, jarring them.

Peia's eyes open, the pain returning sharply. She is still on the floor of the van, unable to move. She turns her head to find Eric.

"Are you in much pain? You were moaning," Eric observes, concerned.

"I was having a really good dream," Peia responds, disappointed, before losing consciousness again.


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter** **12**

The next time Peia regains consciousness, she finds herself on a cot in a small, windowless room. She feels dizzy. And cold. She wonders if she has hit bottom yet. Perhaps she will not recover this time. Her mind flits here and there. She wishes she had asked Eric what to say. She is such a bad liar. Unless she has had time to prepare. So the truth, then? Who _are_ these people?

She takes a wheezing breath, which quickly induces a coughing fit. Through hazy eyes, she detects movement on the other side of the room. A light comes on. She blinks hard, desperate to focus on the figure moving toward her. She hears a gruff male voice – there is a delay before her brain processes the words.

"Do you require water?"

Wanting to say 'yes', the sound that is produced at this first attempt at words is halfway between a groan and a wheeze, but clearly unintelligible. Perhaps she should try to sit up. She jerks her legs enough to shift them off the bed, the gravity pulling her feet to the ground and shifting her hips enough to allow her upper body to move. However, the moment her head is lifted above the height of her shoulders, she loses consciousness again and slumps back down.

Eric enters the room under strict supervision, his wrists still shackled in silver. Her continuous distress has been draining to him and despite the rather crumpled and bruised look about her, he is calmed by the sight. He walks over and sits at the edge of the bed.

"Peia," he calls softly.

After a few more repetitions, her eyes begin to flutter. She is obviously dreaming, as the noises she makes loosely resemble words. As she slowly regains consciousness, she opens her eyes and manages a weak smile when she sees Eric.

"Why is Admiral Adama here? Tell him I'm not a Cylon," Peia mumbles.

"What?"

"I'm _not_ a Cylon. At least I don't think I am. Gods, am I a Cylon?"

Eric shakes his head and looks up at Nan.

"You will get no information from her in this state."

"She'll recover. We're not in any hurry. Well, I will be leaving in a few minutes, but Mr. George here has all the time in the word."

"I am not sure she will recover without my assistance," Eric responds with a touch of concern.

"If she is half vampire like you suggest, then maybe it will just take twice as long," Nan snarks.

"Even a vampire would need to feed to recover from that much blood loss," Eric counters.

"What does she eat?" Nan shrugs.

"Hamburgers. And Vitamin water," Eric responds, recalling their time at Charley's Diner.

Nan considers this a moment. She had wanted the interrogation to at least be on the way before she left. Ordering take-out does not fit with the timeline.

"Fine. You can help her," Nan concedes, irritated.

"Shackles?" He questions, twisting his torso to display his bound wrists.

"Why should I trust you? You took out two of my guards back in Shreveport. I should just cut you myself," she says walking towards him as she pulls a knife from her belt.

"You resorted to silver too quickly. I do not appreciate being _forced_ before being _asked_. I only wished to accompany her. You will get no more resistance from me."

"So long as we stick to your script," Nan responds skeptically.

"So long as you give me the opportunity to speak the truth. We are on the same side in this." _Maybe_.

Nan shouts for a guard from the hallway; a human who can handle the silver shackles. Once they are removed, Eric proceeds to give Peia some blood. The result, as anticipated, is quick and by the time she sits up, the bruising is gone from her broken nose. She smiles rather coyly at Eric before assessing her blood soaked clothes, now crisp and uncomfortable.

"I'll take that water now, please," Peia says to no one in particular.

Nan's phone beeps and she takes a moment to glance at the text message.

"I need to deal with something. Mr. George, keep me informed. Question them separately for now."

Mr. George nods and a guard gestures for Eric to follow Nan out the door. As he gets up, Eric leans forward to whisper something in Peia's ear.

"Remember, the lesser of two evils."

Peia thinks she understands his meaning and tries to emulate his relaxed demeanor. A moment after Eric leaves, another guard enters the room with a glass of water. He offers it to Peia, who accepts, drinks it down and places the glass on the floor near the leg of the cot on which she is still sitting. The guard takes the glass and leaves, but returns a moment later and takes up his position by the door. Mr. George is sitting at a table about six feet from her, staring down through a pair of reading glasses at a file folder. Something about the slow deliberateness of his movements as he turns over each page reminds her of someone. He appears roughly middle aged, with deep creases around his eyes accentuated by the angle of the reading lamp on the table in front of him. His full head of black hair matches the frames of his glasses. He is wearing a suit. After a moment, he takes off his glasses and looks up from the file folder without expression.

"We have not been able to find much information on your past using the name provided to us by Mr. Davis, the Sheriff of Area 27."

Hearing his voice, the inspiration for the dream that chased her into consciousness only a few minutes ago becomes abundantly clear. _Edward_ _James_ _Olmos_. The man before her looks only vaguely like the actor, perhaps a version stretched out in height with the corresponding narrowing of the features. But his voice and movements echo Admiral Adama in a rather terrifying way.

"What name did he give you?" Peia responds.

"He knew you only as Veronica. We inquired at your place of business and were told by your former employer that your surname was Mars."

Peia stifles a laugh. _Oh_, _Billy_. After the night she had met Daisy, acquiring the name Veronica, she had requested that this name be used whenever dealing with patrons of the bar. Better that they couldn't look up her address or phone number, etc. She and Billy had never settled on a last name, as it did not seem relevant at the time. He likely enjoyed taking advantage of the vampires' pop-culture ineptitude in responding to their queries. But how did he keep a straight face?

"It would seem that you share a name with a fictional character from a television program, which complicated our investigation," Mr. George states dryly.

"That's not my name," Peia offers.

"I see," Mr. George acknowledges. He puts his glasses back on, picks up a pen and crosses something off the paper in front of him, before continuing, "And what name should I put on your file instead?"

"I have gone by a number of different names. Veronica is as good as any. None will get you very far in a Google search, is all." She adds quickly, "But I'm happy to tell you anything you want to know."

"Fair enough. Your real name is of little consequence to us."

"Who is 'us', if you don't mind my asking? I don't understand why I am here."

"We are part of the governance structure of vampires living within the United States. We answer to a larger entity, worldwide in scope. It is the duty of my organization to protect our kind from any potential threat. It has been suggested by Mr. Davis and others that you may be such a threat, or at least a part of it. _That_ is why you are here," Mr. George explains in level tones.

Peia swallows hard, feeling overwhelmed by the situation. "Oh. Well, I can assure you, I am no threat. I have _nothing_ against vampires."

"Your recent activities would suggest otherwise."

"Bruce? He jumped _me_. I would have totally let that go."

"Mr. Davis claims he was avenging the death of one of his deputies, who he says you killed. Mr. Davis also claims that back in California, you rather made a habit of picking fights with local vampires."

"Not to be rude, but Mr. Davis is talking out of his ass. I was doing my job. I was hired as a bouncer at a club in a rough area. Vampires, wolves, shifters, you name it. I was hired to keep the humans in the bar safe. We didn't exclude anyone, but if they started hassling a human or causing a disruption, I threw them out. For whatever reason, after the first few vampires were ejected, word spread and they would come just to fight with me. I never asked for the _attention_."

"And the deputy?"

"I never _killed_ anyone. I had a rule – they all got three chances. Bruce was the first to get that far."

"He was quite convinced. Apparently, she had mentioned a skirmish the two of you had."

Peia thinks a moment – there were fewer women. She thinks she knows who he is talking about. Still, she didn't kill her, even if she did chase her off once.

"It wasn't me. Go back and ask Billy – he would know if I'd killed a vampire during one of my shifts."

"And what about in your free time, Ms. Mars?"

"In the time since I learned that vampires existed, I am quite sure that from a statistical standpoint, I am more likely to be kissing a vampire than fighting with one. I mean, I'm living with Eric at the moment and truthfully, he's not the first," she responds, amused by the idea that something she used to be so defensive about might actually help her in the current situation.

"Describe the nature of your relationship with Mr. Northman."

_That's a complicated question with no easy answer_, she thinks to herself.

The honesty leaks out, and she hears herself respond, "It's a bit confusing, really."

"How so?"

She crosses her legs inadvertently and glances to the side before answering.

"I am not really sure if I am his girlfriend or his ward. Perhaps a bit of both? It feels strangely incestuous, but in a positive way. Is that possible?" Peia notices the awkward expression on Mr. George's face and realizes this is not the kind of information he is looking for. She continues, "He tried to turn me, but it didn't work. Well, it did, sort of, but obviously, I am not a vampire."

"And when did this occur?"

"About 8 or 9 months ago, I think. I had agreed to be his for the night – I passed out at some point and woke up underground."

"And yet you have been living in California since, until very recently."

"I was confused, angry. So I ran away." _No need to mention Spike._

"What makes you say it worked at all?" Mr. George asks, obviously skeptical.

"The strength and speed, mostly. And a few other things that make me different from other humans." She hesitates a moment before adding, "I feel connected to him in a way that I don't recognize."

"You are loyal to him?"

She nods and adds deliberately, "We are family."

Mr. George frowns deeply, tapping the pencil on the table gently.

"You must understand our skepticism, Ms. Mars. Mr. Northman is an experienced maker. It seems rather implausible that he would not complete such an act successfully."

Peia just shrugs. She feels unexpectedly possessive of her past. If pressed, she will tell them about the magic in her. Just not yet.

Shaking his head dismissively, he adds, "And even if your story is true, it would be unheard of for a newly minted vampire to have the ability to fend off a Sheriff, even a relatively young one such as Mr. Davis. S_eniority_ is the key attribute in the vampire world."

"What can I say, I'm Bruce Lee," She responds flippantly.

She has no knowledge of this 'age affect' described. Spike had never mentioned it explicitly and she and Eric had barely discussed anything since she had been back. The martial arts reference was not entirely snark. After Spike left and she thought to put her newfound strength to good use at the bar, she had taken up Aikido at a local dojo. Something she had dabbled in back in graduate school. Although primarily defensive, it has the attribute of effectively using the momentum of one's opponent to fuel the fight. Perhaps her somewhat random choice of training had inadvertently given her the upper hand in age asymmetric bouts.

"_That_ reference I am familiar with," Mr. George acknowledges offhandedly. "But lets move on, shall we? So you claim the source of your power is vampire and that your loyalty lies with Mr. Northman. If that is indeed true, then perhaps you can help us investigate some disturbing rumors from your former place of residence. We have had reports of modified humans – stronger & faster, such as yourself. Also, entirely female. Our fear is that these creations are the work of either the U.S. government or some kind of well-funded religious organization and were created with the sole purpose of destroying vampires. As you might imagine, this information is quite disturbing given the current political climate."

"Sounds a bit far-fetched if you ask me. I was an accident – _creating_ is an entirely different animal."

"So you have not encountered any such individuals?"

_Ah, this is where it gets tricky. How much should I say?_

"I might have. One time I found myself being attacked by a group – I had assumed they were supernaturals of some kind, but they were definitely all women." She sounds genuine, but is holding some information back. In truth, she did not stick around long enough to really understand what their mission was.

"Interesting. And how did you fare?"

"In the end, they tased me, so it wasn't exactly a fair fight."

"Why were they after you?"

"I don't know. They seemed to be like you – confused about what I was."

"Hm. And what did you tell them?"

"I didn't tell them anything." But Spike likely did. "They tased me, so I was kind of pissed. I left town a few days later."

Mr. George takes a moment to make a few more notes on the paper in front of him. Next, he pulls out a few sheets of paper with drawings on them and lays them on the table.

"What can you tell me about these images? They appear to depict vampire-targeting weaponry. Interestingly, we came across them through a link on a computer that was purportedly used by you," Mr. George says calmly, but with a hint of vindication.

Looking suddenly nervous, Peia stands up and walks over to the table to look at the papers. Each one is a drawing with a title. The first shows a large, black eagle carrying a round object suspended by a leather strap in its talons. The title is "Pulsing Sunlight Bomb." The other looks something like a gun with a wide opening (almost like one of those diffusing hair dryers). Drawn coming out of the gun are hundreds of lines of tiny nail-like objects. The title is "Micro-silver Diffuser". Peia smiles broadly.

"What do you find so amusing? These are quite damning." Mr. George says seriously, thrown by her change of expression.

"But these are fiction. I hadn't seen…a fan must have drawn them. I am a writer. These are weapons I described in one of my stories. I totally made them up. They have no basis in reality."

"So you have a job that requires frequent altercations with vampires and in your spare time, you write, _creatively_, about killing them. Yes, it sounds like you certainly _have_ _nothing_ _against_ vampire-kind," Mr. George sarcastically throws her words back at her.

"Context. The weapons were used by one group of vampires against another. The main character is a vampire and she is _very_ sympathetic," Peia responds defensively.

"You expect us to believe this nonsense, Ms. Mars?" Mr. George replies, incredulous.

"Look me up. Surely someone here has a wireless connection. Cassiopeia Sun – that's my pen name. The weapons are from my latest story, _Start the Chase_. I can't remember exactly which chapter, but towards the end."

"I do not believe that will be necessary. Perhaps we can begin again. Who do you work for?" He stands up, aggressively.

She lifts her head up, defiant.

"Eric Northman. I am a bouncer at Fangtasia, starting tomorrow."

"We will see about that," he smiles devilishly.

They stand for a moment, scowling at each other. Just then, a ringtone breaks the tension. It is the Imperial March. Mr. George looks at his phone and then quickly picks it up.

Peia feels a twinge of sympathy – a _Star_ _Wars_ _fan_? _Maybe they all have the Imperial March as their ringtone. That would be awesome_.

"Yes. I see. Are you sure? I was just getting started. Very well," he answers into his phone, the words interspersed between brief pauses.

Mr. George sets the phone down and looks dispassionately at Peia.

"It would seem my superior, Ms. Hannah, wishes to speak with you herself."

And with that, Mr. George puts his phone in his pocket, picks up his pen and nods to the guard standing by the door. The guard opens the door and he leaves. Peia looks around the room before deciding to sit in the chair next to the desk instead of heading back over to the cot. She takes the few minutes of solitude to appreciate the effect of Eric's blood. She looks down her shirt at where the wood had pierced her body and sees nothing but smooth skin. She feels utterly fantastic physically, and yet the drastic transition is a bit disorienting. Before she has a chance to think too much about the direness of her current situation, she hears the door latch. She stands up, reflexively. Through the door walks a woman she has not seen – a young (looking) and feminine brunette in a power suit, followed by Eric. Peia resists the urge to run over and wrap her arms around him, instead opting for a demure smile and chin nod as he walks over. He touches her hand, gently as if to reassure her. The woman gestures for them to sit.

"Ms. Sun, is it?" The vampire begins with an odd glimmer of a smile.

"It's actually pronounced 'soon'," Peia blurts, unable to stop herself from making the correction.

"She goes by Peia," Eric offers.

"Ah, Peia, short for Cassiopeia. Funny our need to shorten names," Ms. Hannah muses.

_There is that little smile again. Very disconcerting._

"Well, Peia, I have been talking to Mr. Northman and although I must admit our skepticism regarding the story of your origins, I wonder if perhaps in this case the truth may be stranger than fiction," she continues, adding an unnecessary emphasis on this last word.

"Sounds about right," Peia comments, nervously.

"I am inclined to believe you, based on the events of the other night in Shreveport, the general corroboration of your story by each other and others we have interviewed, etc. etc. Also, the fact that Mr. Northman has served in the capacity of Sheriff quite a bit longer than Mr. Davis and has demonstrated a certain degree of loyalty and cooperation up to this point. Suffice it to say we have more reason to distrust Mr. Davis' motives. All that said, the existence of a hybrid – which I suppose is what you are in a sense, and a strong one at that – is _problematic_. There are questions of loyalty, questions of duplication and other such complexities. These are sensitive times. I am quite sure that if I were to alert The Authority about the situation, or even the new Magister, I would be told to bury it. And to be clear, that would not be figuratively."

Eric stands up, angry, fangs down, "I will not allow it. You cannot…"

Ms. Hannah holds her hand up and responds forcefully.

"Eric, need I remind you that we can take Pam into custody at any time – we have people on the ground at Fangtasia right now. Have a seat and let me finish."

"I think we can trust her," Peia hears herself speak softly, unsure why.

Eric sits back down, but remains on alert.

"The relationship between maker and offspring is a complicated one, filled with nuance and individuality. However, I believe there are certain commonalities. Although some do, regrettably, turn against their makers, most maintain a degree of loyalty and respect that lasts eternally. This is a subject of great interest to me. It is relevant here, as it is my duty to judge the degree to which this _hybrid_ has the capacity to truly understand and participate in such a relationship."

Peia's heart sinks at this. She has no confidence in her understanding or her role as _offspring_.

"But how can this be tested?" Eric responds, concerned.

Ms. Hannah smiles broadly. Peia sinks slightly in her chair.

"Relax, Eric. Peia has already passed."

"What?" Peia blurts.

"I have read your novel, _Start_ _the_ _Chase_. I could not believe it when you told Mr. George to look it up. I did a rather comic double take. I had no idea you who you were. You have quite a decent vampire following, you know," Ms. Hannah answers in a surprisingly light tone. As if the stern words from moments ago were just a cover.

"I do not understand how that is relevant," Eric comments, confused.

"You have not read it. Why am I not surprised?" Ms. Hannah responds with a hint of exasperation.

"I haven't been checking in on the readership lately," Peia says offhandedly, surprised.

"It is relevant, Mr. Northman, because I do not believe that anyone could have written such a story without intimate knowledge of vampire relationships. In fact, I had just assumed it was written by a vampire, as did other readers. In any case, it illustrated an understanding that could only have come from experience. Hence Peia, I believe that whatever force prevented you from actually becoming a vampire did not interfere with the blood connection between you."

"I don't know what to say," Peia responds, feeling like a total imposter with a good imagination.

"Do you think you'll write a sequel?" Ms. Hannah asks hopefully.

Peia cannot get over the bizarreness of the situation. Talk about an unexpected turn of events. She looks up at Ms. Hannah who is waiting expectantly for an answer. Obviously, the right one, given the circumstances, is 'yes'.

"I have some ideas for a prequel," Peia responds unenthusiastically. She has never been one to revisit an ending. But judging by Ms. Hannah's expression, she quickly adds, "Maybe a sequel. That's a definite possibility."

Ms. Hannah nods enthusiastically.

"Are we free to go?" Eric asks, not quite trusting their luck.

Before responding, Ms. Hannah gathers herself and does away with the fan-girl tone.

"We will release Peia into your custody, Eric. As she is an unusual case, we will hold you personally responsible for any aberrant behavior. She must remain under your supervision to guarantee her safety. Do you accept these terms?"

"Yes."

"To avoid any possible _misunderstandings_, we will keep this conversation and the conclusions reached to ourselves. Neither The Authority nor the Magister will be alerted to her existence and I will do my best to contain the information within the AVL."

"I understand," Eric adds.

Ms. Hannah turns to Peia.

"Peia. It is critical for you to understand that you owe your life to Eric. In any other situation, we would have killed you. Or worse. What you are is because of him. What happens to you in the future _depends_ on him. Be clear with your loyalty," Ms. Hannah states with authoritative conviction.

Peia feels her heart start to race and her head spin. A deep part of her soul bristles defiantly, the tension showing in her muscles. Her eyes flit about the room in a panic. She is trapped. _Was this the right choice? _

Sensing her reaction (and fearing what she might do), Eric places his hand gently on her shoulder, careful to insert his fingers under her shirt to touch her skin. She turns her head quickly towards him, the panic still visible in her eyes. In a moment, she feels a calming warmth emanating from their point of contact – obviously it is not warmth literally, as his hands are cold, but the effect is warming. Her muscles relax in sequence and soon her eyes soften.

"Lets go. We have only a short time before daybreak," Eric says as he moves his hand across her shoulder and up the back of her neck, pausing enough to give a gentle squeeze.

Peia nods, "Okay."

Once they leave the gate of the compound, Eric comments, "We were very lucky back there."

"You think?" She answers, sarcastically.

"Should I read it?" Eric asks.

"What?"

"Your book."

"No. I mean, you can, but… Honesty I don't think it is that good. Kind of overwrought and full of melodrama. It's like Twilight for vampires."

She wonders if she has maybe judged it a bit too harshly. It was written quickly and during a time of great pain. And like many authors who infuse too much emotion into a story, it feels painful just knowing it is out there being read. Maybe she will revisit it eventually….


	13. Chapter 13

_**Author's warning: Sexually explicit language and situations follow. Enjoy. Or avert your eyes if you are under 18.**_

**Chapter 13**

Eric looks at the sky and frowns. If he were on his own, he could fly and make it back before the dawn; but not carrying someone. And although Peia appears to have the strength of a vampire, she lacks the speed, so they cannot go on foot either. Of course, _she_ does not have to be back before dawn. Still, its seems wrong to split up. He pulls out his phone and dials a number.

He has a conversation with Pam in Swedish and then puts the phone away.

"Pam will send a car to pick us up. We need to walk about a mile up to the next crossroads," Eric explains.

He is a bit uneasy, as they will not arrive in Shreveport before the light. The car will be light-secured of course and they will pull straight into the sealed garage at his townhouse. Still, the reliance on an unfamiliar driver and the remote chance of a crash (or something less accidental) is enough to keep him on edge.

Peia nods before asking, "Was that Norwegian?"

"Swedish."

"Oh. For some reason, I thought Vikings were Norwegian," she responds with mild interest.

"I spent my childhood in what is now Norway, but more time since in Sweden. Pam knows Swedish. The languages are very similar."

They continue to walk.

"By car, we will not arrive in Shreveport before the dawn. If anything were to happen, I must seek cover quickly; you should continue to the townhouse and I will meet you at nightfall," Eric explains calmly.

"Of course," Peia responds. She remembers clearly the first days when she and Spike were on the run from Gillian; Spike in the trunk of her hatchback as she drove continuously all day. Once after a near crash caused by her own exhaustion, she realized what such a crash would mean if Spike were flung from the trunk. This terrified her, but they had no choice at the time. Her mind returning to Eric, she parses his phrasing, "_By car, we will not arrive…". He could get back if it weren't for me._

"Not quite what you were expecting, I suppose," she offers after a pause, considering for the first time his perspective in this.

"What's that?" He responds, not sure what she is referring to.

"Just that things would be simpler if …_it _had worked all the way. You were expecting a vampire and you got me."

It is true. Things would be simpler. He had sought to fill a particular void. He had a fleeting vision of what their life would be like – the three of them – the night he decided to turn her. After a pause, he responds thoughtfully,

"After a thousand years, surprises are not unwelcome." This is also true.

They walk the rest of the way in silence. It is not far. The car pulls up almost immediately and they get in. It is a limo with blacked out windows, including the one separating the driver from the back, which is still open a crack. With some relief, Eric recognizes the driver. He is a human they have used before in similar circumstances.

Once inside, Peia takes her jacket off, pulls the mangled and blood soaked shirt underneath off and then replaces the jacket. She takes a bottle of water from the drinks cart, pours a small amount on the only section of the shirt NOT red with blood and proceeds to clean the dried blood from the skin of her torso. When she is satisfied, the rest having to wait for the shower, she sits back and looks over at Eric.

"So I guess we're stuck with each other," she says with an ambiguous smirk. She can't help but think of the final scene in _The Graduate_.

"I thought for a minute you were going to bolt out of the room back there," Eric comments, sounding vaguely concerned.

"I don't like feeling _dependent. _I am used to taking care of myself," she responds. This is true. In this life, anyway.

"Perhaps you will find comfort in being taken care of for a time. Have you not already?" He offers, warmly.

"I have," she admits. These weeks have been such a jumble of emotion, but of course he has made everything easy for her. She smiles, feeling flush. He reaches over and pulls her closer. She decides to slide her leg around and straddle him, taking a moment to run her hands up his chest and rest her head gently on his shoulder.

"You may rue the day. I'm told I can be a pain in the ass sometimes," she adds, her head lingering.

"Then you will fit in just fine," he responds, amused.

He slips his hands under her jacket and up the sides of her torso – she jerks up at the coldness of his hands, sitting back up and laughing.

"You always get a fever _after_," he observes.

"I do. How many has it been? What if I only have nine lives like a cat?"

"Guess we had better be more careful."

She leans in closer, anticipating a kiss. After a tantalizing pause, he leans forward and engages her lips.

"How long is the ride to Shreveport?" Peia asks, breathlessly.

"Not long enough."

"But we could make do?" Peia counters slipping her hands under his shirt and kissing him again.

"No," he mumbles between kisses.

"No?" She pulls back slightly.

"I have a pretty good idea how long it will take to do all the things I want to do to you, how long it will take to make you come as many times as I want you to come, how long it will take me to come in as many places as I want to and I can say with supreme confidence that this ride is _not_long_enough_."

She closes her eyes, feeling dizzy at the thought.

"But we can get started, right?" She breathes, trying not to sound too desperate. Her body is desperate, yes. And the power of his touch stokes. It is also more than that. She wants it done. She wants there to be no turning back. She needs the decision to exist outside her mind.

Eric smiles a devilish acquiescence, enjoying her eagerness. He flips her over onto her back on the seat and lunges in for a hard kiss. She moans as his hand slips between her legs, stroking her over her pants. As things heat up, his hands sliding greedily over her skin, dislodging without discharging her clothes, she hears herself mumble,

"God, it's been so long." What compelled her to share this, she will question later with some annoyance.

"Since what?" Eric husks between nibbles of flesh, hopeful her answer will be _since the last time we fucked_.

"Since I've had sex." _Duh_, she thinks, not letting her brain vet her words.

"How long?" He plays along, continuing his exploration of her body.

"Many months. Seven, I guess. Jesus," her body now completely on fire with anticipation. She reaches her hands down to work on the button of his pants before realizing he has slowed down.

"Why? You love sex," he asks, genuinely curious.

"Doesn't matter," she whispers, dismissively, renewing her battle with the button.

"Tell me."

"Why does it matter?"

"I will make you wait _longer_," he teases.

She pulls her hands up and sighs.

"You know why," Peia insists.

"I do not."

"Why would you make me say it? Fine. Because I didn't want to risk ruining anything. I thought Spike was going to come back. Men are funny about things. Okay?"

She thinks she detects a fleeting look of sympathy as he frowns slightly and utters a faint, "Huh," in response.

"Do not be angry. Such things interest me. I wish only to understand," he adds after a moment.

Now it is her turn to feel a degree of sympathy towards him. Can he really be this clueless about relationships?

"It's fine," she responds, sounding only a bit exasperated.

"Have I ruined the mood?" He pouts in such an adorable way that she has to fight back a smile.

"Not completely. So long as you hurry up and get those pants off."

"You first."

As he is pulling off her boots, she slides down onto the floor of the limo when the car takes a sharp turn. He completes the task and then tugs down her pants, leaving just her underwear, before joining her on the floor. As he kneels by her feet, he succeeds with his button and pulls down his pants, revealing his readiness. She finds herself desperate to feel his cock in her mouth, so she sits up quickly and grabs hold of it. She runs her hands from the base up along the shaft before wrapping her fingers around the head and pulling down on his foreskin revealing the glistening pink tip. Looking up at him she puts her mouth over the top, letting her tongue glide across the hole. "Mmmm" she hears him growl as she takes more of him into her mouth, holding her lips tight around him as she slides his dick further and further in until it hits the back of her throat. She bobs her head up and down a few times, letting her tongue swirl over the tip with each stroke. After another minute of this, he pushes her back, reaching around to free her breasts at the same time. He stares at them for a second – such beautiful tits, everything in proportion, perky but not artificially so, nipples erect on hand-sized C-cups. He pushes her back further until she is on her back before taking a nipple into his mouth, sucking in the entire areola, fighting the urge to bite down just hard enough to release a bit of blood, thinking it best to save that for later. His hand cups the other breast gently until it gets its turn with his tongue and teeth.

There is something electric in the touch of their skin, as they have experienced over the past weeks, likely due to their blood connection. The result in this context is a wondrous hypersensitivity, which perhaps is most appreciated by Eric, whose thousand-year experiences have, not surprisingly, left him dulled to the pleasures of sex, requiring more acrobatics, creativity and duration to get the thrill he once experienced as a younger man and vampire.

He works his way downwards, nibbling her belly, finally reaching the top band of her panties, which he pulls off with his teeth. Again, he pauses a moment to admire. As he runs his fingers softly over her trim triangle of curly hair, then just the tips of two fingers over her gently fuzzy outer lips, he whispers,

"Hello pussy."

Reaching the end of her slit, he turns his hand around and lets the two fingers slide inwards enough to stroke her inner lips on the way back up. His fingers are quickly immersed in the unbelievable moisture of her swollen cunt.

"Nice pussy."

Peia gasps at his touch (and his voice), worried that she will come before he is inside her. She lets her knees fall to the sides, opening up to invite him in to her glistening hole. He takes in the sight of her lips parting, revealing the smooth red folds and feels the stiffness of his erection become unbearable. He climbs up her body, pulling down on her shoulders as he dives his cock inside her. They both groan in relief, the anticipation having built for too long (days, weeks, months?). She is so wet that his entire length slides in easily and she has to work to grip him with her inner walls. They both are surprised by the intensity of their physical connection and quickly lose all mental awareness, becoming lost in a frenzy of friction and desperate pleasure. Peia comes first, unable to stop the convulsions of her vagina, driven by the frenzied tugging at her clit, her body internally grabbing at his cock, as if trying to pull it further inside. She stifles a scream, biting her lip hard enough to draw blood. Eric closes his eyes, focusing all his senses on his lower body, so as to get the most pleasure out of the massage his penis is getting inside her feverish body. He feels his orgasm building and almost cannot believe it will happen this quickly. Just as her body begins to calm, he smells the droplet of blood on her lip. Immediately, his fangs drop and he plunges them into her neck. He takes just a few swallows, then pulls his fangs out, throws his head back and grunts loudly as he comes forcefully inside her, the pulses of his own orgasm echoed with shallow thrusts. Peia's body responds again to the blood injected into her, releasing another round of orgasmic spasms.

Eric's mind swims in the joy of the moment. _This is going to be fun_. He would tell Bill about it, in one of those throw away lines meant to embarrass or just taunt meaninglessly. "It was amazing. It is like fucking yourself. And you know how much I love _me_."

After a few minutes, Peia and Eric realize that the limo has stopped. They hear a gentle rapping on the outside window and a meek voice saying,

"Mr. Northman. We have arrived. Are you alright in there?"


	14. Chapter 14

_Author's Note: For those of you that are a bit weary of WIP stories, I wanted to give you a feel for where we are. I would say that I am about halfway through the events of the story, perhaps a bit less. So I am thinking there will likely be ~30 chapters total. Lots of action still to come. And more plot (vs. strictly relationship stuff). As always, would love to have your comments ()._

_Also, some swearing and mild sexual situations in this chapter._

Chapter 14

Sometime later, in Eric's bedroom, Peia is straddling Eric on the bed, sitting tall with her shoulders back, her pelvis moving rhythmically, her eyes closed. She feels a pair of cold hands take luxurious hold of her breasts; it takes her a minute to realize these cannot be Eric's hands, as his are still planted on the sides of her hips. Her eyes flash open.

"Hello, Pam," Peia says calmly as Pam rests her chin on Peia's shoulder, continuing to massage her breasts from behind. Pam climbs on the bed and positions herself behind Peia, placing her knees on either side of Eric's legs.

"Glad you made it back okay. Fucking idiots from the AVL finally left last night."

"I hope they behaved themselves," Eric responds, protectively.

"Just trailed me. Threw me off my game, but no damage done."

"Did Nan return?" Eric asks.

"No. Why?"

"Just wondering what she was told."

Eric moves one of his hands from Peia's hip to Pam's leg.

"Care to join us?" He asks suggestively. It has been a very long time since he and Pam have shared a woman, something they used to do on occasion back in the day. Although an unusual request after so much time, he finds himself quite intrigued by the idea of having both his girls in bed with him.

"I'm good, thanks. _Someone_ has to work in this family," she responds, happy for the attention, but having long ago put aside any interest in a sexual relationship with her maker.

With that, she touches Eric's hand briefly before climbing off the bed.

"You kids have fun," she adds as she heads out the door.

Peia and Eric resume fucking in earnest.

Sometime later, Peia climbs out of bed, Eric apparently asleep. Slipping on a t-shirt, she leaves the bedroom, walks over to what would be the kitchen area and takes a drink from the faucet. She then finds her bag, pulls out a pack of cigarettes and lights one. After a minute, Eric appears in the doorway, still naked.

"Clothes?" He says with mild indignation.

"I do believe I have been naked for over 24 hours now, so it may just be time to get dressed."

He walks toward her, stopping to lean on the couch a few feet away.

"I _know_ you have been naked for 24 hours, but the way I see it, clothes are still very much optional."

"I need to get some food," she admits.

"Ah. Maybe later? Maybe tomorrow?" He asks, like a little boy hoping to get an extra treat.

"You don't want me wasting away to nothing, do you?" She replies, smiling.

"I think we have some time before that happens," he replies, giving her an appraising look.

"What's that supposed to mean?" She asks with mock incredulity.

"As the kids say, you still have some junk in your trunk."

She shakes her head and laughs, grabbing a magazine from the counter and throwing it at him. She then turns to the slide and slaps her butt, saying "Gotta have some cushion for the pushin'."

Eric grins, amused. Peia used to think he looked odd when he smiled – eerily reminiscent of The Cheshire Cat. But this time, it seems natural and consequently almost human.

"Seriously. I need food. And something besides water from the tap." As she says this, her hand goes reflexively to her neck and the quickly fading bite marks.

"I suppose I should check in with Pam. In case there has been an apocalypse or something," he relents.

She looks as if she is about to say something, but then stops herself, unsure.

"What is it?" He asks, curious.

"Should I get my own place?" She asks nervously, completely unsure what answer she is hoping for. Pam has her own space; is her place in the family different?

"Why?" He responds, a bit surprised.

Peia glances over her shoulder at what would normally be the kitchen. There is a counter and a sink, but nothing else.

"You don't have a real kitchen. There's no refrigerator or microwave or range. You don't even have any cups." She explains, careful to keep her observations non-critical.

He steps towards her, stopping a few inches away. She looks up at him, expectantly.

"We can get cups," he responds, the implication clear.

She nods and leans in to press her face against his chest, careful to keep the hand with the lit cigarette off to the side.

After a few minutes she says, without moving away, "I need to go to New York for a couple of days. I need to take care of a some things." _Now that I am staying,_ she thinks, but does not say.

He tenses slightly at this, despite himself.

Recovering, he responds calmly, "Of course. But wait a few weeks. It would be unwise to travel so close to our encounter with the AVL. They may interpret it the wrong way."

She pulls back slightly to take a drag from her cigarette before answering "Sure." Nothing is time-sensitive. Nyack can wait.

The weeks go by quickly and without incident. Nan does not return to pester them. Peia attempts to settle into her roles — bouncer at the club, assistant to Pam, girlfriend to Eric (?). Pam delights in having someone to pass off any jobs likely to involve dirt or mess of any kind. Peia likes to feel useful, so she does not object.

In the days leading up to her trip to Nyack, Peia has taken to spending the early evenings at Sookie's house, sunbathing in the backyard. The intention partly to shift her schedule such that she can be alert in the daytime during her trip. It is around 7pm this particular evening and she and Sookie are lying next to each other in adjacent lounge chairs in bikinis. Sookie sits up and grabs a sweatshirt from the ground and wiggles into it.

"You know, you'd probably get more color if you got here a little earlier. Like maybe mid-afternoon," Sookie observes after glancing over at Peia's still very pale skin.

Peia reaches down into her bag and pulls out a bottle of sunscreen, labeled SPF50. Holding it up for Sookie to see, she replies, "I've got very sensitive skin. I just like the feel of the sun."

"Sure. And I guess no need to worry about skin cancer with that stuff."

"You don't mind that I come here, do you?" Peia asks a few minutes later.

"Not at all. I like the company now that Tara left town." It is especially nice to have a human friend who is also dating a vampire, she thinks to herself. "And it _is_ technically Eric's house now," Sookie adds with a mildly annoyed tone.

Not long ago, when Peia had stopped by Merlott's to make sunbathing plans with Sookie (Eric had suggested the house as an option), Jessica pulled her aside.

In a hushed voice, full of concern, she said to Peia, "Do you know why Eric bought Sookie's house?"

Peia knew exactly what she meant and why she felt the need to say something.

"I do," Peia responded confidently, although in truth she hadn't been entirely sure until Jessica brought it up.

"Doesn't it bother you?" Jessica asked with perplexed curiosity.

"A couple of weeks ago, Sookie came to Fangtasia. I don't remember the reason. But the minute she walked through the door, I could feel Eric's attention move from me to her. I was suddenly invisible. In those few moments, instead of jealousy, I felt relief. Like I could finally take a breath. Does that make any sense?"

"I guess," Jessica responds skeptically. "If it were me, I think it'd make me want to scratch her eyes out. Or punch _him_ in the nuts."

Trying to explain, Peia continues. "Do you know what people with chronic pain will sometimes do when their meds stop working? They hurt themselves – smash a bone or crack their head – to distract their brain from the other source of pain and get the endorphin rush from the new injury. The problem is, it's a temporary fix because they don't learn to deal with the original pain, so it lingers, waiting for their attention. I don't want to open up a new wound. Knowing how Eric feels about Sookie takes the pressure off."

Back in the present, Sookie, having already brought up Eric's name, cannot curb her curiosity, asking casually "So how are things going with Eric?"

Peia smiles before responding, "It's sort of what I imagine an arranged marriage is like. We're getting to know each other."

Sookie scrunches up her face. "Well, that's kind of weird thing to say. An arranged marriage?"

"Oh, that reminds me. It's mani-pedi Tuesday – I need to make an appointment for us all tonight. 'Tooth and Nail' now serves cigars _and_ martini's. To us anyway. Which makes it the best!nail!salon!ever! in my book." Peia reaches in her bag for her phone. While she makes the call, Sookie gets up and pours them a couple of glasses of iced tea. And then she starts in again with the questions.

"Why would you call it an arranged marriage – didn't you move here to be with him?"

Peia's phone beeps, saving her from having to answer that question. She looks at it and exclaims, "Nice." She waves her phone at Sookie, explaining, "_Centurian_ just came in from Netflix. Eric has this home theatre on the second floor of his townhouse. I've been getting movies – apparently he and Pam could never agree on anything to watch so I've become the arbitrator. It's fun. Usually I get to just pick what I want."

"Back to…" Sookie starts to say, but is interrupted by a loud voice in her head. Up to this point, she had been consciously trying to block Peia's thoughts out of respect for her privacy. But her curiosity was starting to get the best of her and she had decided to not try quite so hard. What Sookie hears is Eric's voice saying "Come."

Peia jerks at the same moment.

"What the hell?" Sookie asks, confused.

"You heard that?" Peia responds.

Briefly flustered, Sookie explains "Didn't anyone tell you that I hear people's thoughts, like, constantly?"

"Uh, no."

"Really? Because its kind of a thing that people talk about."

"Well, nobody said anything to me," Peia says, sounding annoyed and hoping that this will distract Sookie enough to forget about Eric being in her head.

"Wait a minute – what _was_ that? I just heard Eric's voice in _your_ head."

Again with the not being able to lie very well on the spot, Peia just goes with the truth.

"Eric is up. He wants me to come home. If he is up before sundown, we usually watch a movie or fool around."

"But he's not telepathic last time I checked. I mean, I've only ever seen Pam and Jessica…[realizing something] wait a minute…. Are you a vampire now?"

"Sookie, note the giant yellow orb in the sky and my not bursting into flames right now. I'm wearing a _bikini_."

"Right. And I can hear your thoughts." She explains, "Vampires are silent to me."

"So that settles that." Peia says as she gets up and starts pulling some clothes over her swim suit.

"Hold up, sister. That still doesn't explain how he is in your head."

Peia thinks a minute and decides that coming clean with Sookie is probably not the worst thing in the world. "I guess I am some kind of freak hybrid. Eric tried to turn me and it didn't work. I have some sort of other magic in me or something."

"When?"

She could lie, of course. She could say it was last week. And yet, the truth instead.

"When I was here with Spike."

Sookie gasps audibly as she holds her hand up to her mouth.

"Lets not make a big deal of it, okay?" Peia adds, not wanting to delve into the emotional implications of all this. She starts walking away. Sookie jumps up, following her.

"I can't believe Eric _did_ that," Sookie gasps.

"Really?" Peia asks skeptically.

"Ok, I guess I can believe it. _Still_."

"I don't want to talk about it right now. Lets leave it that Eric and I have a blood connection and that explains what you just heard," Peia says decisively, clearly wanting to stick to the facts.

"So are you okay with this?" Sookie asks quietly.

"How else can I be?" Peia shrugs. "Maybe I'll see you tomorrow," she adds as she gets into her car and then quickly drives off.

"It's starting to get a little crowded here in freaktown," Sookie sighs under her breath.

Peia arrives at the townhouse and as she passes between the inner door and the bedroom door, she decides to stop at the sink to fill her water bottle. She stands there a minute, taking a long sip, knowing that Eric will not usually venture out from the bedroom until sundown. She wonders if it was a mistake to be so open with Sookie.

_Will she tell Bill? Should I warn Eric? Does it matter? _In some ways, it was a relief to tell someone.

She hears the shower go on in the bedroom and ventures in after dropping her bag on the couch. She sits on the edge of the bed, deciding not to join Eric in the shower; he likes the smell of her skin when she has been in the sun. Caught up in her own thoughts, she doesn't hear the water stop and so is startled when Eric suddenly appears next to her. He turns her slightly so he can wrap his arms around her shoulders and sniff the skin of her neck.

"Sunbathing again?" Before waiting for an answer, he says "Don't wear so much sunscreen next time – too much coconut."

"If I don't wear sunscreen my skin will be crispy and that won't be fun for anyone," she replies, always a tiny bit bristly when he tries to tell her what to do.

"You are spending a lot of time with Sookie," he observes without judgment.

"Don't you think it is probably a good idea for me to get to know her?" Peia responds, giving her tacit approval.

Eric takes this in for a moment. Had he been that obvious? _Someone must have told her. _And is she really offering to be his ally in this? After a fleeting shiver of excitement at the thought of having it all, another unfamiliar emotion grips him. Why would she be so willing to share him? Feeling conflicted, he decides to skirt the issue for now, responding neutrally, "who you decide to befriend is your own business."

After planting a quick kiss on her shoulder, he stands up and starts getting dressed.

"You have been feeling better, yes?"

Puzzled about his meaning, she replies, "How do you mean?"

"Fewer tears when you are away. Sometimes none." Eric has appreciated her attempts to hide the tears from him – he has little patience for such displays.

"Oh _that_." She feels embarrassed. Silly to think she could fool him. But does he really know why? She smiles awkwardly.

"Better?" He asks again, knowing she understands.

"Yes," she answers with a more genuine smile this time.

"Would you mind if I returned to sleeping in my coffin? I feel more secure inside. Perhaps force of habit." He had been a bit nervous about bringing this up. But he had been feeling odd lately. Not quite himself. Moody, even. He attributed it to lack of rest. The bed was fine for fucking and lounging, but something about the open air of it kept a part of him on alert when he was supposed to be resting. At least that was his interpretation. So now that she is feeling more comfortable and perhaps less in need of his presence in the bed…

"Oh," she is surprised by the question, so it takes a moment to process.

"The coffin is actually right under the bed – it slides in and out, so I would not be far," he offers, concerned about her reaction.

"No, it's totally fine. I hadn't realized…do what you need to do. Sleep is sleep," Peia answers, honestly.

Eric just nods with a quick "Okay," relieved that she does not appear upset.


	15. Chapter 15

**Chapter 15**

Early in the evening, just before Fangtasia opens, Bill walks in followed by two guards dressed in rather obvious "plain clothes". He strides up to Pam, who is busily getting the club in order. Seeing him approach, she lets out an exasperated sigh.

"Pam," Bill says in greeting.

"King Bill. What a lovely surprise," she responds, dripping with sarcasm.

"I need to speak with Eric," Bill states plainly.

"What, no chit chat? No, 'how are you, Pam', 'what a lovely outfit', nothing about the weather?" Pam snarks.

"Can you please just tell him I am here?"

"God, you are boring," she feels compelled to observe.

"Is he in his office? Because I can let myself in if you are otherwise occupied," he responds, annoyed by her typical lack of respect.

"I am afraid _he_ is otherwise occupied."

"I am sure he can make time for his King." Bill starts walking toward the office door.

"I would at least wait until after the first orgasm. It's just common decency," she calls after him.

"He's with someone?" Bill asks, irritated at the delay.

"I'd tell you to come back later, but they'd probably just be fucking again. Or still. They go at it like rabbits."

"That must be inconvenient for you," Bill responds with a hint of empathy.

"Actually, it's kind of sweet," she remarks without thinking. She perks up here ears and continues, "She's almost there. Just a few more seconds."

Bill rolls his eyes, hesitating as he weighs the alternatives. Just as he is about to walk in the door of the office anyway, they hear a loud shriek.

"Go on in," Pam indicates with a wave of the hand.

Bill strides to the door and opens it to find Peia sitting half naked on top of a file cabinet with Eric's face between her legs. Eric turns his head, annoyed,

"Has knocking been abolished? I must have missed the decree."

Peia quickly slides off the cabinet and pulls her pants up, while Eric wipes his face. She is grinning, stifling a giggle.

"I apologize. I have little time to spare and need to speak with you urgently," Bill replies, mildly embarrassed by the situation.

The sight of Bill looking uncomfortable quickly dispels Eric's annoyance at being interrupted.

"Bill, meet Peia. My new deputy." He gestures rather dramatically toward Peia, who is now fully dressed.

Bill was obviously hoping to _not_ have to interact with Eric's companion and looks even more uncomfortable, his genteel manners not allowing him to refrain from addressing her now.

Bill holds out his hand. Peia reaches forward to shake it.

"Peia. Nice to finally meet you. Sookie mentioned you have become friends," Bill says stiffly.

"We should definitely double date," Eric deadpans.

Peia lets out an awkward laugh.

"Of course she cannot be a vampire deputy, as she is not a vampire," Bill decides to add, matter-of-factly.

Peia thinks to herself, _Sookie didn't tell him_. In the end, she had asked her not to for the time being, but you never know what secrets a girlfriend can keep. During that conversation, Sookie had asked Peia how she could be with Eric, after he did what he did. "I saw you with Spike. I could tell you loved him," Sookie had said with concern. Peia had replied, "Can you remember that feeling when you were a little kid, after waking up in the middle of the night from a nightmare – the terror of the fresh images in the dark. The only thing you want at that moment is for your mom or dad to take you in their arms and tell you everything would be okay? And almost always they'd just tell you to stop crying and go back to bed. But then sometimes, when they were too tired to kick you out, they'd let you crawl into bed for a cuddle. And the instant you felt your mom's arms around you, all the fear and tension and sadness just melted away. That is what it felt like the first night I came back here and went to Eric. And it wasn't just a nightmare. What would you sacrifice for that?" Being an orphan, Sookie had understood this vividly – the memory of and desire for that feeling had haunted her for too much of her childhood.

"Is that a rule?" Eric asks, skeptically.

"It would seem to me to be common sense. Don't you agree?" Bill responds.

"I am quite comfortable with Peia as my deputy," Eric says, smiling approvingly in Peia's direction.

"Be that as it may, all new personnel must be vetted and it is up to my discretion." Bill asserts, more forcefully this time.

Eric, having learned how to pick his battles, decides to let Bill take this one.

"Sorry, my sweet," Eric shrugs to Peia.

"Shame. Vampire deputy would totally round out my resume. Scientist, writer, bat-wrangler, bouncer, vampire deputy…." Peia comments with mock disappointment.

"If you'll excuse us," Bill says to Peia.

"I need to pack," Peia shrugs to Eric, quickly leaving the room.

Once Bill and Eric are alone, the tone darkens.

"So serious. I think you have aged since taking the throne. Politics getting you down?" Eric comments.

"There have been more incidents with shifters. One was brought in from Alabama, sniffing around Russell's old place."

"What did you get before he escaped?" Eric asks.

"It was a she and how did you know she escaped?"

"They are here to send a message. Once the message is delivered, they leave." Eric answers, having obviously given this some prior thought.

"And what message are they sending?"

"They are testing the strength of the regime – that would be you – and making it clear that someone with power cares," Eric states with confidence.

"We think they are coming from the west," Bill offers.

"I can contact Isabel if you like – perhaps they are moving through Texas. I would not be overly concerned. This is common practice whenever a monarch is… _replaced_."

"Perhaps you can also inquire of Isabel the _inclinations_ of the King of Texas. It is important to know where we stand with our neighbors."

Eric nods.

"There is one more thing. Apparently during her interrogation, this shifter mentioned your name," Bill adds, watching Eric's reaction intently.

"Was she attactive?" Eric responds quickly.

"This is serious, Eric."

"My point is that if she is up to my standard and female, there is a decent chance I may have bedded her at some point and the ladies tend to have a hard time letting go," Eric smirks, confidently.

"I believe the comment was more about your age than your prowess. I need to know I have your full support and loyalty, Eric."

"Rest assured, I have no interest in being King. If I had, I would _be_," Eric replies, pointedly.

Bill is not sure whether or not to be re-assured by Eric's statement. But he needs to be somewhere, so has to go.

"Let me know what you hear from Isabel," Bill says as he walks out the door.

Once in the bar area, Bill sees his two guards tied up against the back wall. Before he can react, Peia calls out from across the room,

"Do these guys work for you? Because that's what they said, but we've got a strict no weapons policy in here and they would not relinquish, so I had to take them down."

Bill frowns as he looks back at Eric. Eric smiles.

The next morning, just before sun-up, Peia and Eric are back at the townhouse. Peia is throwing a few things into a bag as Eric stands, watching.

"I have my cell phone and charger, so I will text you when I get there. I'll be at the Marriot."

"I should come with you," Eric repeats.

They had been arguing about this for the past week.

"Like I said a thousand times, I can do what I need to do faster alone; not having to worry about avoiding the sun. I will be fine."

"Do not get into any trouble. You are my responsibility," he responds, deflecting.

"I don't know if I will be flying back or driving back. I will let you know."

Eric nods. Of course he is sending someone to track her, but he still feels uncomfortable letting her go without him.

"You will return on Tuesday?" Eric hears himself ask, even though she had told him many times.

Peia, sensing his trepidation, stops packing for a minute to stand and look him in the eye.

"If I were going to leave you, Eric, I wouldn't tell you I was going or make up stories. And I wouldn't take my cell phone. If I were going to leave you, I'd just be gone," she states plainly.

Not particularly comforted by her words, he nods and allows her to finish packing and leave without further comment.

A few minutes after Peia leaves, Pam comes to the door.

"You sent Alcide to follow her? I thought he wasn't working for us anymore."

"He needed the money. And I just _might_ have something on his ex-girlfriend that he would prefer to keep quiet." After a pause, he adds as though justifying the choice to himself, "I needed a daywalker who I knew would have empathy for a pretty young woman and I could not risk sending a human."

"Anyway, he called to say he is on his way and will check in once they are both on the plane."

"Good."

"How's the coffin working out for you? Gettin' more rest?" Pam inquires. Eric had told her about the sleep situation when she called him out for being moody. Pam does not deal well with moodiness, especially when her maker can be a right bastard when he is in a bad one.

Instead of saying anything, he just makes an odd sort of growly noise.

"That good, eh?"

"I could not rest in the coffin. It is perplexing. I have had that model for at least a decade without issue. But it feels strange to me."

"We'll go shopping for a new one. A vampire down in Alexandria opened up a showroom last year. I hear she's got some good stuff," Pam offers, helpfully. Shopping always makes things better.

Eric nods, happy for a reason to get away.

Alcide is standing on a sidewalk outside a club named "The Angry Hen", looking uncomfortable. He frowns down at the iPhone in his hand, which is loudly playing the LMFAO song, "Sexy and I know it". After a few seconds of spastically running his finger over the face of it, the music stops and he brings the phone to his ear and says, "hello?"

"You have not answered any of my texts," Eric's voice states, annoyed.

"So that's what all those beeps were about. Sorry. I haven't used one of these before," Alcide responds with a complete lack of sarcasm.

"Why am I not surprised?" Eric sighs back.

"Nice ringtone," Alcide snips.

Pam had been the one to load that ringtone, smirking at the thought of Alcide's mortification.

"Have you been able to trail her discretely?" Eric inquires.

"Sure," Alcide responds.

"And?" Eric asks, impatiently.

"She's fine. No trouble."

"What has she been doing?" Eric responds, irritated that this information was not immediately offered.

"Not much. Post office. Bank. Comic book store. Talked to a guy there for a while, appeared to give him some money. Went for a run in the afternoon…", Alcide's voice trails off.

"Where is she now?"

"In a club."

"What is she doing?"

"Dancing."

"Dancing?"

"I believe you are familiar with the concept, seeing as that is what people do in your club."

"Is she dancing _with_ anyone?"

"Not really. Other women sometimes. Looks like she is having fun. Drinking and such."

"What kind of music?"

"I don't know. Dance music."

Eric pulls the phone away from his ear, aggressively rolling his eyes. He sighs and brings the phone back.

"Can you be more specific?"

"Not really. All sounds the same to me."

"There is an app on your phone called Shazam. I want you to launch it every time she is dancing to something."

"Why does it matter what music she is dancing to?"

"I am not paying you to ask why. Just do it."

"Fine. Is that all?"

"The women she is dancing with. What do they look like?"

"Seriously?" Alcide asks, feeling totally uncomfortable with this job – spying is not his thing.

"Yes."

"Uh, ok looking, I guess. Athletic? I think this may be a gay bar— an unusually high percentage of women." Another reason for Alcide to be uncomfortable hanging around. That, plus he is FREEZING. Totally did not come prepared for a New York spring.

"Text me when she returns to the hotel," Eric orders, not waiting for a response before hanging up.

It has been a weird couple of days. Alcide does not like flying and he definitely doesn't like being somewhere new and unfamiliar. It had been difficult to trail Peia without being seen – even as a wolf, he would stand out, so he has mostly kept to human form. Eric had told him his main job was to alert him if she started making trouble with vampires (or was threatened in any way), intervening as necessary. But now Eric seemed obsessively interested in her every move. Pam had described Peia as Eric's girlfriend, but he was used to not trusting the information given to him and had learned not to ask too many questions. A relationship seemed so unlikely, as the woman he had been trailing appeared much too _normal_, for lack of a better word. There must be something else. Still, the last few phone calls did have an aura of jealousy. Whatever. At least he hasn't had to fight anyone. He would just do the job, get the money and (lord knows why) protect Debbie's reputation so she could get that job she'd been after. There was a part of him that hoped steady work might clear her head and bring her back. So he would put up with Eric's shit one more time.

The next day was not much different. Peia was up and out early, ran a few more errands (an office building, a library, a book store) and then stopped at a sports field on the edge of town to watch a rugby match. Alcide recognized one of the players as the woman she had danced with at the club the night before. He has a brief, tantalizing thought that perhaps Peia had cheated on Eric with this woman and even more amusing to him, he decided that if this were true, he would definitely _not_ tell Eric. Alas, there was no sign of anything non-platonic between them. After the match, Peia stayed for a post-game beer (or five) – a keg had been rolled out to the field at halftime. Next, she went for a long walk. He had almost lost her then, as there was no way to discretely follow her by car. In a panic after he had lost site and smell of her, he remembered that Pam had said he could track the location of her phone with his. It took him a while to figure out exactly how to do this, but eventually, he was able to track her to a nearby town.

Pulling up to the location indicated on the phone, he sees her walking up the long driveway to what used to be a fairly large stone house at the end of a dead-end street. There are only ruins there now – a pile of rubble left untouched. It is not clear what caused the damage – a fire? An explosion? Something else? All that is left are collapsed walls, some charred wood and the remains of a large chimney.

Alcide stays in the car, observing with a pair of binoculars that are rather ridiculous in their size – an old pair of birding binocs that his grandfather had used decades ago. But they did the job.

Peia's pace slows considerably as she approaches the collapsed piles of stone. She looks weary. After a moment of inactivity, he sees her stride forward purposely and upon reaching the old chimney, disappear behind it. Once she is out of view, he decides to sit back a minute and drink the now lukewarm coffee he had bought at the last gas station. Warm in the car, he feels his eyelids get heavy. Just as he is about to drift off, there is a loud knock on the glass of his door. He looks up, startled and sees Peia standing outside. She is saying something, but it takes his brain a moment to process the words.

"Hey, wolf guy. I need your help with something," she says, looking flushed and sweaty.

He rolls down the window and mumbles a confused and unconvincing denial,

"Who? Wolf guy? What are you, crazy?"

"I know Eric hired you to follow me. It's fine. I won't tell him I know. Come on," she says, breathlessly, waving him out.

He slides out of the car with a deep frown, not sure what to do or say.

"Was I that obvious?" Alcide asks with concern.

"Oh my god, SO obvious. I mean, no, you did fine with the stealthiness, but you stick out like crazy around here. Seriously, is there anywhere people _don't_ notice you when you walk down the street?" She says, laughing.

Feeling a little embarrassed, he just shakes his head and says, "What do you need?"

"Follow me," she says as she walks briskly back toward the ruined house. Once they get to a particular place in the rubble, she explains, "I need you to help me move a few of these bits – I need to see up into the chimney."

He nods and they both pull at some pieces of broken up stone wall. When they move enough to reveal a two-foot wide hole in the base of the chimney, Peia squats down and puts her head in.

"Aw, what's that smell?" Alcide scowls, pulling his arm over his nose.

"Guano. I hope," Peia responds as she looks up into the cavity.

"Bats?" Alcide asks, moving closer.

"Can you tell if it's fresh? I can't smell very well anymore."

Alcide takes his arm away.

"I think so." He squats down next to Peia, listening. "But I don't hear movement."

"If they are alive, they are hibernating," she responds, nervously.

She reaches her arm up and feels the inner sides of stone. She brings her arms down and sits back.

"Well?" Alcide asks.

"They're there. Some of them, anyway. I can't believe it," She says with awe, her heart leaping with excitement.

"I am a little afraid to ask, but why do you care so much about _bats_?"

"They were pets. A colony of vampire bats. I helped look after them, before. I thought for sure they would die in this climate without the heaters." Truth be told, she had developed an affection for these little ugly creatures in her care. And they were something that survived, a link to a better time. She continues, "We have to take them with us."


	16. Chapter 16

**Chapter 16**

_**Flashback (Nyack)**_

_[Author's notes: I am abbreviating this quite a bit, as I have decided not to dwell too much on the past. Just a few key highlights. I thought I was going to wrap this up in one chapter, but will likely need another one after this (of flashback) to get through everything. And because during the flashback, Peia is known and Jen, I found myself flipping back and forth a bit with the names – I hope it isn't too confusing. Also, smut warning for those who care.]_

Peia had been working for Gillian for a few months. She helped set up the bat enclosure in the back of the house, complete with rather sophisticated environmental controls capable of finely adjusting both temperature and humidity. During this time, she had interacted with Spike on occasion. Gillian would send him along if Peia needed help with heavy lifting or picking up special equipment and various similar errands. They had been friendly and perhaps a bit flirty, without intent.

Peia was happy with her life as it was. You could not quite describe her as a hermit, but her partners in the writing co-op had learned to never count on her interest in socializing. She enjoyed a good drink and would sometimes join the group when the mood struck her and there was little chance for intimacy, but for the most part, she kept to herself. This was partly her nature, but mostly a conscious decision to withdraw. During the immediate recovery period after she woke in that hospital bed after 20 odd years, she endured the physical therapy with bravery and determination. However, when it came to the psychiatric side of things, she was unable to face the tragedy directly. The loss was too great, the pain too powerful even from a distance. She had decided, despite everything she was told (and herself knew to be true) to take the cowards road. She locked the memories away (in what she liked to picture as a treasure chest frozen in a glacial-sized block of ice) and left to start a new life. And to reduce the chance of any glacial melting, she strove to make her new life as different as possible from her old one. This was surprisingly easy – a new city, a new job, new people. She spent a lot of time in her own fantastical world, creating stories and allowing herself unlimited freedom to do so.

But there was something rather sweet and exciting about Spike. He was full of a mellow confidence and had a sharp wit that often made her grin despite herself. And he was handsome in the particular way she liked – just tall enough, lean, pale eyes, punkishly hip without trying too hard. She had only ever said a few words to him, but he had babbled on about nothing on occasion. He had tried to talk to her about music, but they had very little overlap in knowledge, both out-of-date in their unique way; they seemed to both have missed a couple of non-overlapping decades.

It was about the time that she started putting in some over-nights at the house in the summer to monitor the bats' feeding schedules that they had had their first mutual conversation. She was sitting on the couch, working on her laptop when he came down the stairs and plopped himself down on the arm, fishing in his coat pocket for a cigarette.

"What's up, _Doc_?" He had said with a squirrely grin.

"Doc?" She said, confused, glancing up from her screen. In fact, he had tried out a number of nicknames on her already – "Bat girl" "McVitie" "Anorak". She had assumed this was just his style, but it had occurred to her that perhaps he had forgotten her real name and was too embarrassed to ask.

"You are a doctor, right? Very posh indeed," He responds as he lights a cigarette.

"I was a scientist once. It happens. How did you know?" She responds with a shrug.

"Nicked your wallet while you were in the loo." He pulls it out of his coat pocket and tosses it on the couch, holding back one card. "It's not the name you gave Gillian, but I couldn't figure why else you'd cart this around." He waves the card about. "You in witness protection or something?" He adds before handing it over to her.

In fact, it was a miniature version of her Ph.D. diploma. She had found it when she went through an old box of paperwork before she left town. After laughing at how ridiculous it was that her university gave out mini-laminated diplomas to their grads (in addition to the real thing, of course), she found herself stuffing it in her wallet.

"Something," She answers cryptically while taking the card and putting it back in her wallet. Wanting to change the subject, she asks, "So isn't smoking an odd thing for a vampire to do? Doesn't it feel weird?"

"What's that?" He responds, scrunching up his face.

"You don't breathe, so I thought it might free strange to inhale and exhale the smoke."

"What are you on about? It's like riding a bike. You smoke?"

"Once in a while."

"That's rude of me," He says reaching back for the pack.

"No, I'm ok."

"Ah, social smoker, yeah?"

"More of a scotch smoker."

"Scotch. Didn't think kids today had much of a taste for the stuff. Unless it ends in 'tini' and tastes nothing like gin, they turn up their noses."

"More for us," She responds, wryly.

"Because you're an old lady, I suppose."

"Something like that."

"You're a funny bird, you are." He takes another drag from his cigarette before continuing. "So what do you do for hours on end on that laptop of yours? Science?" As he says the last word, he does a funny gesture with his hands, fingers wide and wavy.

"Sometimes. Mostly I write." She sees his fingers start to wiggle and before he can ask, offers "_Not_ science."

"What, like stories and such?"

"Yeah."

"Anything I might like?"

"Maybe."

"What are you working on now?"

"I think it might be a graphic novel."

"You think?"

"Or maybe a screenplay. I can't draw."

"That could be a problem. What's it about?"

"It's kind of a hero/serial killer thing. Think a cross between Dexter and the Punisher."

"Sounds promising. I know something about killing if you need a technical consultant."

"I might take you up on that. Can you draw?"

"A little."

An alarm on the coffee table goes off. Spike glances over at it,

"Time to make the donuts?"

"Time to feed the bats." She closes up her laptop and slips it in her bag.

Spike pops up and slips on his coat and heads toward the door.

"Take it easy, Doc."

"You know, you could just call me Jen."

"I shall take it under advisement."

A few nights later, Spike is sprawled on the couch watching t.v. There is an unopened bottle of scotch on the coffee table next to his feet. He is restlessly pushing buttons on the remote, looking bored. Peia walks into the room, obviously coming from working with the bats in the back room. As she enters, it is obvious that something is different – she appears almost stiff and is glancing around the room, nervously. Spike sees her and sits up quickly.

"Looking rough, Doc. Hungover?"

Peia walks toward the couch and glances at the table. She says, softly,

"You got Glenmorangie."

"Used the money from your wallet the other night. Didn't think anyone carried cash anymore."

She rests her hand on the couch as if balancing herself.

"Can I ask you a favor?" Peia asks, almost timidly.

"I'd be happy to share. Was waiting for you to show up to open it. Seemed the proper thing to do, seeing as it was your money and all," Spike says, good-naturedly.

"That's sweet, but I actually need something else. Could you walk me home?"

"That bad, eh?" He picks up the bottle and waves it about. "You know what they say – 'hair of the dog'".

Peia takes a deep breath and you can see she is trying very hard to focus her thoughts.

"I took something – a drug called Dirt. Nothing happened at first, but now I'm not sure I can make it home. Plus it's late and, well, you know what's out there."

"They call it Dirt because a full third of the gits who try it end up in the ground," Spike responds, a bit concerned.

"I wanted to write about it – nothing I had read made any sense, so I thought I'd see for myself."

"That's pretty ballsy. Or stupid, depending how you look at it."

She shrugs. "I've made it this far, so I think I'm good. _If_ I can make it home."

Spike sighs and stands up. He had been looking forward to opening that scotch.

"Fine. Want me to borrow Gillian's car?"

"I think I could use the walk. It's only a couple of miles."

They start to walk. It is a mixture of houses and parks. Spike notices her eyes darting around.

"So what's it like?"

"I've never done any hallucinogens before, so I can't compare it to anything."

"What do you see?"

"Shadows moving about. Auras that change shape. From what I've read, the first time makes the least sense."

"Is it fun?"

"Uh. Not really. Supposed to be mind-expanding," Peia explains as her steps become a bit erratic as though she is stepping around things that are not there.

"Heard that one before," he mumbles, as he takes her arm to steady her.

They walk a bit further when she stops suddenly at the edge of a small grassy field. About five meters in front of them is a large tree. Spike looks at her, questioningly and she gestures toward a small raccoon digging in the grass a few meters away. She brings her finger to her lips. Spike rolls his eyes, thinking mockingly "look at the cute furry mammal." But then Peia shakes her head and points upwards to the tree. He squints his eyes and sees a large owl inching into position down a branch. In a few seconds, the owl leaps silently from the tree and snatches the unsuspecting raccoon in its talons and flies away.

"And that is how its done," Peia proclaims, snapping her fingers criss-cross.

"Got a thing against raccoons, do you?"

"Got to root for the owl, every time. It's _tough_ to be a predator."

"Don't I know it," Spike agrees.

"You're a parasite, not a predator."

"Excuse me?" Spike responds, incredulous.

"Ok vampires _can_ be predators, but they can also be parasites. Parasites may not sound as sexy, but they do a hell of a lot better in todays world."

"Maybe we should get moving. Still, respecting the stealth of that owl. Don't think I've ever seen that. Personally I tend to go for a bit more flash, but he got the job done, so good on 'im." Spike comments.

They walk for a bit. Then there are a series of beeps from Peia's phone. She looks at it, squinting hard as if there is something wrong with her eyesight. She smiles and punches something into the keyboard.

"I am _so_ going to win this one."

"What's that?"

"Just a stupid phone game that I play with the other authors at the co-op."

"Nerd," Spike whispers under his breath.

After a minute, her phone rings. She picks it up.

"Of course it's a real song. No, seriously. I win. Finally. (pause) Prince. It's a Prince song. Pussy Control. Look it up. I'm not going to sing it for you. Really? That's a rule? You don't think I'll do it. (pause) Well, suck it losers, I'm singing." She moves the phone away from her face and turns to look at Spike.

"I have to sing now and I am a **shit** singer. Don't judge me. For some reason, I really want to win this game. Which is weird." [back it the phone] "Is everybody on? Yeah, I am going to skip the chorus to make this go faster…."

"_Good mornin' ladies and gentlemen _

_Boys and motherfuckin' girls _

_This is your captain with no name speakin' _

_And I'm here 2 rock your world _

_With a tale that will soon be classic _

_About a woman U already know _

_No prostitute she, but the mayor of your brain _

_Pussy Control _

_Aaah, Pussy Control, oh _

_Our story begins in a schoolyard _

_A little girl skipping rope with her friends _

_A tisket, a tasket, no lunch in her basket _

_Just school books 4 the fight she would be in _

_One day over this hoodie _

_She got beat 4 some clothes and a rep _

_With her chin up, she scolded "All y'all's molded _

_When I'm rich, on your neck I will step" _

_And step she did 2 the straight A's _

_Then college, a master degree _

_She hired the heifers that jumped her _

_And made everyone of them work 4 free? _

_No! Why? _

_So what if my sisters are triflin'? _

_They just don't know _

_She said "Mama didn't tell'em what she told me _

_'Girl, U need Pussy Control'" _

_Verse 2 _

_Pussy got bank in her pockets _

_Before she got dick in her drawers _

_If brother didn't have good 'n' plenty of his own _

_In love Pussy never did fall _

_And this fool named Trick wanna stick her _

_Uh, talkin' more shit than a bit _

_'Bout how he gonna make Pussy a star _

_If she come and sing a lick on his hit _

_Pussy said "Nigga, U crazy if U don't know _

_Every woman in the world ain't a freak_

_U can go platinum 4 times _

_Still couldn't make what I make in a week_

_So push up on somebody that wanna hear that _

_Cuz this somebody here don't wanna know_

_Boy, U better act like U understand _

_When U roll with Pussy Control" _

_With one more verse 2 the story _

_I need another piece of your ear _

_I wanna hip U all 2 the reason _

_I'm known as the Player of the Year _

_Cuz I met this girl named Pussy _

_At the club - International Balls _

_She was rollin' 4-deep _

_3 sisters and a weepy-eyed white girl drivin' a Hog _

_I pulled up right beside her _

_And my electric top went down_

_I said "Motherfucker, I know your reputation _

_And I'm astounded that U're here _

_I fear U're lonely and U want 2 know _

_A 12 o'clock straight up nigga _

_That don't give a shit that U're Pussy Control _

_Well I'm that nigga, at least I wanna be _

_But it's gonna be hard as hell _

_2 keep my mind off a body _

_That would make every rich man want 2 sell, sell, sell _

_Can I tell U what I'm thinkin' that U already know? _

_U need a motherfucker that respects your name" _

_Now say it, Pussy Control _

_And the moral of this motherfucker is _

_Ladies, make'em act like they know _

_U are, was, and always will be Pussy Control"_

"Ok, did I win now? You can stop laughing anytime now. Fuck off. See you Monday."

She puts the phone down and starts walking. After a moment, she notices that Spike isn't with her. She turns around.

Spike shakes his head. "That was the most horrific, bizarre thing I have ever witnessed. And I've seen a Fungus demon in a corset singing Brittany Spears. There are no words."

"Your welcome," she responds with a bow. But then she gets dizzy and falls over. She lays on her back a minute, watching the sky.

"I think I like you, Doc. That said, its time to get you home."

Spike grabs her hand and pulls her up. Upright, she takes a step back and looks directly at him for a minute.

"You look different." She tilts her head to the side before asking, "Have you ever bleached your hair?"

He is about to respond, but then hesitates. After a moment he shrugs, "maybe?"

She shakes her head. Her eyelids look heavy. He ends up carrying her the rest of the way to her apartment. Once she is settled inside, he asks on the way out, "Raincheck on that scotch?"

"Sure." She responds, attempting to smile.

From that point on, they saw each other fairly regularly. She told him more about the story she was writing and he thought it was good fun to help out. So they'd sit together on the couch with the laptop, combining ideas. He'd sketch some panels. They went to a few clubs, saw a few movies, talked about everything until all hours (as you do). Scotch got drunk and the writing sessions got more intimate. It was good fun.

One night, the laptop was quickly put to the side and things were getting hot and heavy on the couch. Just shy of clothes coming off, Peia whispers, "should we go upstairs?" There was a butler in the house (tall & creepy – rather Lurch-like, which she imagined was Gillian's intent) who always seemed to be lurking and she didn't really fancy being caught naked by him. Spike had responded, "Lets go to your place."

She breaks away and sits back, "Seriously?" He pulls her close again, kissing her neck before saying, "Too many people in this house." "Okay," she responds, a bit thrown by the unexpected change of venue. They quickly stand up and she packs her things before heading out the door. She had driven tonight, so they go straight for the car, stopping every few steps for more kissing. As they reach it, Spike turns her around and pushes her back against the door, crushing his body up against hers, his face lingering next to her cheek for just a moment before their lips connect again. She feels dizzy. Up to now, everything had been tentative – almost a game. She was just toying with the idea of a relationship. But suddenly now it felt real. And not just a relationship, but a relationship with a vampire. She knew nothing about this, no idea whether or not to expect anything different.

Spike thinks about taking her right there – how easy it would be to tear off her pants and slide in – how good it would feel. He hadn't felt this aroused for months, years maybe. He couldn't remember the last time he was this hard. But as his hands start to reach down, he hears the sound of a door closing inside the house and remembers why he had requested they travel to Jen's apartment. He pulls back, smiling devilishly and walks around to the passenger side. Peia takes a deep breath and after fumbling with the keys a moment, climbs in. She closes her eyes in an attempt to clear her head so she can drive without crashing. As soon as he moves into the seat next to her, he leans over and starts kissing her again, slipping his hand under her shirt and into her bra.

"If we're going to make it to my place without crashing, you'd better stop. Unless you want to get in the back right now." She says glancing over her shoulder.

"Drive," he commands, reluctantly extracting his hands.

She nods and starts the car. They arrive at her apartment in just a few minutes. She hesitates a moment after she turns off the ignition. Spike can sense the rapidity of her heartbeat. Her apparent trepidation is intoxicating.

"You're shaking. Are you afraid?" He hears himself ask in a low whisper.

"Shouldn't I be? Just a little?" She turns to look at him. He responds with a half smile.

They leave the car and the minute they pass the threshold of her apartment, fall to the floor. As they kiss, he unbuttons her pants, and slips his hands between her legs. She whimpers, almost embarrassed by the obviousness of her arousal. Feeling the warm wetness of her swollen folds, he murmurs, "Gotta lick it."

He moves down her body, sitting back on his legs as he pulls the sides of her pants over her hips, down her legs and tosses them to the side. He does the same with her purple thong before pushing her knees apart and leaning in until his face is just an inch away from her swollen lips. He inhales to catch the sweet scent of her arousal. She feels herself tremble with anticipation. He lurches forward and runs his tongue up the length of her slit, feeling for her hole. Finding it, he teases it with his tongue for a few seconds before moving upwards and flicking the skin just below her clit. She lifts up her pelvis, pressing into his face, unable to stop herself from coming almost instantly. She screams and jerks as her muscles contract rhythmically against the soft wetness of his tongue. "Sorry," she hears herself say, unsure why. Spike pulls back, unbuttons his jeans with one hand as he moves back up her body. He pauses for an instant to watch her face as he pushes his cock into her as quickly as her body will allow. It takes a couple of thrusts to bury it fully into her cunt, "Holy shit," she gasps, not quite prepared for the size of it. His eyes flutter as he takes in her warmth. He fights the urge to thrust as hard and deep as his body begs him to, for fear he might hurt her. She is human, after all. "You okay?" he asks before withdrawing for the next thrust, worrying that he might not be able to stop himself if she were to say 'no'. "I'm good," she replies despite the slight pain she feels at being stretched. This is only the second time she has had sex since the coma and the first was completely unmemorable. Her body was desperate for a good fuck, but tight from the lack of it. Hearing what he was hoping for, Spike begins thrusting in earnest, delighting in the tantalizing whimpers Jen is making in response. She wraps her legs around him, opening herself up further, inviting him deeper. It feels so good, he frees himself from the burden of restraint. The faster he thrusts, the harder he gets, soon unable to prevent the release that has been weeks in the making. He delights in the build-up and growls loudly as he feels himself spray inside her, the waves of his orgasm climbing up his knob delivering what feels like gallons. Afterwards, he collapses on her a second before resting his head on his elbow. "My turn to say sorry. _Usually_ give a bit more mileage." Smiling back at him, Peia responds, breathlessly "We've got the rest of the night." "I like the way you think, Doc" he smirks back. Suddenly, Peia starts to look flushed and she feels her heart start to race as if her body is being jump-started from the inside. "What's this?" She asks Spike, confused and a little freaked. "Round two," he responds, then adds, "One of the many benefits to fucking a vampire, so I am told."


	17. Chapter 17

**Chapter 17**

_**Flashback cont'd.**_

_[Author's notes: So very sorry for the long hiatus. Believe me, if I had the time I would work on this every day! Sadly, there are not enough hours…. I can only promise you that I will finish this fic, so it won't be a WIP forever. Thanks for hanging in. Always feel free to pester me ]_

Spike trots up the stairs of the house he shares with Gillian, entering a large open room when he reaches the top. The lighting is dim. The background music suffused with various human vocalizations emanating from around the space. There is a threesome engaged in bondage play at one end of the room and a more traditional naked couple engaged doggie style on the throw carpet near the fireplace. On the king sized bed at the other end lies Gillian in a silk robe, smoking a long cigarette. Seeing Spike, she waves him over eagerly. As he walks past a naked woman dangling from her bound wrists, he pauses and takes brief notice of a small scar north of where her pubic hair would be, if she hadn't waxed herself bare. A man standing behind the woman clears his throat as a hint for Spike to get out of the way. He nods to the man and moves forward, hopping onto the bed next to Gillian.

"You smell all clean and sparkly. Had a good night?" Gillian asks playfully.

"Not bad," Spike smirks, adding, "Which one's free for a nibble? I'm _starving_."

"Not _that_ good, then" Gillian responds.

"Depends on your perspective," he says, taking a quick drag from her cigarette.

"The dom is the freshest, but if you'd prefer a woman…"

"He'll do." Spike hops up eagerly.

"Oh, wait until they're finished," Gillian pouts, indicating the couple having sex.

"It's like Animal Planet in here," Spike observes looking around.

"You missed most of it – we had another dozen earlier."

"A typical Thursday, then."

"You used to have fun with me," she pouts, detecting his disparaging tone.

"Did I?"

"You most certainly did. Don't you remember?" As she says this, she waves her hand in a twirly sort of way that causes Spike to freeze for a split second.

"It's not like I _mind_. You can do what you like. It's just a bit boring, is all," he remarks.

"Why don't you tell me what _you'd_ like to do," she offers, exasperated.

"When I decide, you'll be the first to know." He pauses a moment and then adds, "Looks like they're done. Time for my snack."

"Spike, you made me miss the best part!" She whines, albeit playfully.

He just shrugs and heads toward the other group.

The next night, Spike is walking with purpose toward the doors of a club. He stops a few steps back and checks a piece of paper in his hand. He takes a last drag of his cigarette, drops the butt and steps on in, then walks up to the door. He pulls it open to see a bouncer seated in the vestibule. The bouncer looks at him expectantly after nodding toward a sign on a little stand that reads, "Meet the Authors: $20 cover." Spike fishes in the pocket of his coat and pulls out a small printed ticket. The bouncer takes it and waves him through.

He is visibly surprised by how crowded the room is. A band is setting up on a small stage to the side. He goes straight up to the bar and orders a drink. He hears snippets of conversation around him,

"Are they _all_ going to be here?" "Are they signing iPads?" "Someone said Smasher is _hot_." "He hooks up with everyone, seriously." "Which ones are gay again?"

Just fifteen hours ago, he had woken up after a glorious night of carnal bliss with just enough time to have a quick shower and slip back to the house before daybreak. Peia was out flat when he slipped out from under her arm. A few minutes later, showered and dressed, he decided to wake her before leaving – seemed the proper thing to do, anyway.

"It's almost daylight, so I've got to dash. See you at the house later?"

Bleary eyed, she had smiled and murmured a quick "sure", rolling over onto her back.

Spike took the opportunity to slide a hand over one of her breasts to cop one more feel before leaving.

"Or I could just come back here at sunset…" Spike suggests, not ready to take his hand away from her body.

"That could work," she responds, putting her hand over his. But after a second, she thinks of something.

"Crap! I just remembered. I've got a thing tonight."

"A thing?"

"It's a board meeting for my writers' co-op. And then a 'fan-mingle' fundraiser. It's going to be a long night."

"So tell them you're sick and have to stay in bed. It's partly true. I'm happy to write a note."

"I have to go. It's my day job."

"This isn't some sort of post-shag brush-off is it? You've used me for your pleasure and now…." he pontificates playfully before she interrupts.

"You could come if you want. I guess. We've got a band lined up. They're not bad."

"Sounds alright. Free drinks?"

"Sorry, cash bar. But I have a ticket for you. Hang on." She squirms around to find her wallet on the table by the bed – Spike pulls at the sheet to uncover her torso as she leans over. She hands him the ticket.

"Time?"

"Anytime after 9 is good. I'll need to put in a couple of hours at the mixer and then we can go."

"Kind of like a date."

"Kind of. Except that I'll have to talk to some other people, too."

Back at the bar, Spike scans the room. A real mix of people – geeks, dorks, alt/punks, gay men, lesbians (probably), even a goth or two; all in various clumps looking a vague mixture of embarrassed and excited. For fun, he slides up next to a group of women chatting at a table near the bar.

"Danys is the best writer, for sure."

"But she's so _dramatic_. Very Anne Rice."

"The language is beautiful. I'd love to be able to write like that."

"Jorel does the best monsters. I don't know where he comes up with that shit. It's a little fucked up. But awesome."

"Most importantly, who writes the best smut?"

"That's a tough one. I think Sierra is the most, uh, _imaginative_?"

"Totally. Not really sure it's all actually possible. Or pleasurable. But definitely creative."

"Thrace is good with aliens. Have you read the Order of Acous trilogy? The first book is crazy hot."

"Peia is the most real. Like you can imagine it actually happening."

"Do you think she writes from experience? Or does she just have a dirty mind?"

"Can't be all experience. She writes a lot of slash."'

"But she could totally be bi. I even heard someone say she's gay."'

"She doesn't actually have a penis, so I don't think she could have experienced male/male gay sex."

"We don't know she doesn't have a penis."

"She never hooks up."

"Maybe she's a dog."

"Don't be mean, Heather."

"_You_ said she might have a penis."

Just then, there is a commotion at the back of the bar. Lots of murmuring. The writers are coming out of the board meeting. They each pick up a name tag, which has a picture of their official avatar on it. He spies Peia (who he knows only as Jen) and reads her nametag.

For yucks, Spike decides to intervene in the girls' conversation. He leans toward them and says, "She does not have a penis, she is not gay, could be bi, I suppose, and though her mind may be a bit dirty, I would gander experience plays a larger role."

"What makes _you_ so sure?" Heather replies with a hefty does of attitude.

"Had her last night. She knows her way around a cock, that's for sure."

The girls are gobsmacked and say nothing. He takes a swig of his beer and walks away from the table with a quick farewell nod, "Ladies."

Spike is pleased to see her face relax into a sincere smile when she sees him – she looked tense and uncomfortable before as she walked into the room.

"Sorry that took so long. Always lots of bickering and egos at these meetings – takes fucking forever for everyone to settle," Peia says as Spike approaches.

"No worries. It's been a bit of a tickle listening to your fans."

"I'm afraid I have to mingle and sign some things. The band is going to start in a minute if you want to grab another drink."

Some time passes, she mingles, he watches. After a while, she finds him and they find a corner away from the masses.

"You know there is another vampire here," Spike observes with mild interest.

"No. Who?" Peia scans the room.

"That bird over there. She's barely taken her eyes off you. Would make me jealous if I were that sort."

"How do you know? Is it like gay-dar for vampires. Vamp-dar?"

"I guess. But I don't think 'vamp-dar' is going to catch on as a thing. Kind of misses the whole…."

"Okay, okay," she interrupts, feeling a bit embarrassed. "I wonder why she's here."

"She's an old one, I'd bet. Watch how she moves."

Peia turns to look. She can't see anything obviously different about her. She didn't even know Gillian and Spike were vampires when she first started working for them. She just shakes her head. Although the woman does look a bit familiar. Had she seen her before?

After a while, they sneak away from the club to have their own fun….

_[Author's Note: Again, I am abbreviating the next couple of scenes. I may return to them, but for now, I feel it is important to move the story forward.]_

From that point on, Peia and Spike spent nearly every night together in some form or another until the time when Peia had to leave town unexpectedly. The night of her return was the night that would change things forever. After Peia had agreed to go away with him, after she had loaded him unconscious into the hatch of her little car and drove off, she went to the only place she could think of that was far away, isolated and familiar. It was a place she hadn't been back to in decades – did it still exist? She drove the rest of the night and all the next day and into the next night as well. Finally, at dusk of the second day she pulled into the town she once new — Highlands, North Carolina in the heart of the Nantahala National Forest. She had used some of the tricks she had learned watching re-runs of Veronica Mars – disposable cell phones, untraceable bank cards, etc. etc, all under the assumption that they were running for the police. Ha! Once she learned that they were running from Gillian, she felt foolish. Would any of that make a difference? Spike recovered rather quickly the further away they were from Gillian – it was never clear whether it was a poison that wore off or a spell that weakened with distance. Either way, once Spike had fed, he was nearly back to full strength. Gillian found them the next day. She brought henchmen and one of them had stabbed Peia in the heart, apparently killing he instantly. After that, Gillian and Spike had argued and fought for hours. Then, unexpectedly to both of them, Peia woke up. The surprise was all they needed and they were able to get the jump on Gillian and the boys and escape.

They had traveled around the South, stayed for a time in New Orleans before heading to Shreveport. What followed could be considered either a bump in the road or a life changing chain of events, depending on your perspective. Regardless, the details have already been covered. After Peia had threatened Eric at Charlie's Diner, she and Spike traveled the old route 66 and ended up in California after a few weeks of meandering. They found a town north of LA that seemed newly rebuilt, but which had a familiar feel to it, or so Spike had observed the day they drove in. Something about this place had seemed to give Spike sparks of memory, so they made the decision to let themselves settle in a bit. They rented a hotel room by the week and spent some time walking the streets, exploring. All the buildings seemed to have been built at roughly the same time about 15 years ago after some sort of natural disaster – people were vague on the details.

While Spike rested during the days, Peia decided to do some research. She was happy to stumble on an ad in a newspaper for a magic shop – something called the Magic Box II. She was getting more comfortable with the idea that a spell was keeping Spike's memories from him and so a spell was just the thing to give them back.

The first time she went into the shop, she felt out of place and unsure. She recalled, vaguely, a friend she had back in college who had been a Wiccan. He was always going on about spells and tarot cards, but she never took it very seriously. But this shop seemed very serious and now she felt her ignorance deeply. So she browsed for a while, avoiding eye contact with the employees who would undoubtedly ask her if she needed any help. She found the books in the back. A staggering set of shelves filled to the brim. After a few minutes spent reading titles, she must have let out an audible sigh because in a moment, a woman appeared behind her offering her assistance.

"Can I help you find something? You look lost," the woman commented with friendly compassion. She fit the character of the shop exactly – red hair, bright clothes, an air of flower child. She looked to be in her early 40s.

"Maybe. I'm looking for information on memory spells," Peia heard herself ask rather timidly.

A fleeting frown crossed the woman's face. Perhaps a look of concern.

"Ah. Memory. Complicated stuff. Easy to get yourself in trouble…," the woman responds with a cautionary tone.

"Oh, I'm not going to try to _do_ any spells. Just looking for information. I'm a writer." Peia blurts, instinctively lying.

"Phew. Fantastic. It's just, kids come in here all the time wanting to erase something or other from their parent's memory or their girlfriend's… you know. Its not the kind of magic to be used on frivolous things."

"Sure. Brains and all. I would imagine there could be consequences."

"I mean, an experienced witch wouldn't cause any damage, but I've seen some of these things go wrong…"

"Yeah. Well, I am mostly just interested in what is possible. So maybe a book that covers the types of spells and what they can do?"

The woman walks over to the shelves and pulls out a large volume.

"You can start with this. Feel free to browse through it – these are reference books anyway."

"Thanks."

"My name's Willow if you need anything else. We've got an herbal tea section over by the pickled stuff."

"Great."

Peia decides not to mention the shop or the book to Spike that night. The information in the book was overwhelming and she felt like she has just scratched the surface. She's not even sure what she is looking for, really. Perhaps just some indication that what has been done to Spike could be undone. She decides to do a bit more reading and then approach that shop owner who had been helpful. Maybe there are witches you can just hire to undo spells.

Later that night, after the two of them had been walking the streets and chatting for a while, Spike suggests going into a bar they had just passed. They walk in and find a small table away from the "live music". Scanning the bar as they chat, Peia notices a group of women gathered near a cluster of comfy chairs at the other end of the bar. A private party with black balloons and "over the hill" banners. The waitress has just brought them a tray of full shot glasses. There is something familiar about one of the women. After a moment, she realizes it is the redhead from the Magic shop.

"Girls night out, I expect," Spike says, noticing the direction of her stare.

Peia nods. "Husbands are home looking after the kids, for sure. Look how tired the blonde looks."

"I reckon it's _her_ birthday. Forty by the look of her."

"Speaking of birthdays, when is yours?"

"I couldn't tell ya'. Lets say…_tonight_."

"Alright. Shots it is. I'll give you your present later."

"Or maybe in the alley out back?"

"We'll see. Lets start with those shots."

Spike nods and Peia heads over to the bar to put in the order. He finds his gaze drawn to the blonde birthday girl for some reason….

Over in the private party area…

"How can I be 40? Seriously?" Buffy whines.

"You don't look a day over 39."

"..says the woman who can magic away her wrinkles at any time."

"Do I look like I magic away my wrinkles?"

"I need some water."

"I'll go."

"No, I could use the walk to the bar and back. Help keep me awake."

"Is the party that dull? I tried!"

"No. No, it's great. You cannot begin to imagine the crazy amount of tired that comes with parenting two 4-year olds. _Fireworks_ couldn't stop the yawning."

"Ok, but do a shot before you go."

"Fine."

She downs a shot, then gets up and heads toward the bar. She asks the bartender for a glass of water, then turns to leave once he hands it to her. As she is passing by a table, she hears a familiar voice say,

"Happy Birthday."

She turns quickly toward the voice and as her eyes settle on their source, she feels her body stiffen and the glass slip out of her hand. She manages to grab it before it hits the floor and with eyes wide, she rushes back toward her friends without saying a word. She immediately pulls Willow aside,

"There is a guy near the bar who looks…and sounds… exactly like Spike."

"That's not possible. He died. Twice. Well, three times if you count when he was turned into a vampire…but twice _recently_."

"Willow. It was him. Go see."

"Why should I go?"

"Because. Well. Because. [in a meek voice] Because it's my birthday?"

"Fine. Where?"

Without turning to look, Buffy points in the general direction, "that way."

Willow frowns and starts walking. In a minute, she sees who Buffy must have been talking about. He is sitting with a vaguely familiar looking woman, chatting and laughing. She holds back, listening. "Could be him, I guess," she thinks to herself. She decides to be direct. She walks up to the table and when Spike and Peia stop talking to look at her, she speaks.

"Do you know me?"

"What?" Spike says, surprised.

"Do I look familiar to you in any way?"

"Should you?"

"I asked you first."

"You work at the magic store," Peia decides to respond, desperate for the awkwardness to be over.

Willow turns to Peia and her eyes flicker with recognition.

"Oh, yeah, you were there today. How did you like the tea?"

"It was very floral."

"That's what we were going for."

"Then you succeeded."

Willow turns back to Spike.

"So you definitely _don't_ know me."

"What's this all about, then?" Spike asks a bit more seriously.

"It's just my friend thought you were someone we used to know. But that would be impossible. Still, you do look like him. And sound like him… totally just a coincidence. Probably early-onset dementia. Or the tequila talking. Which actually makes a lot more sense. I'm just going to go now…Sorry to bother you. Enjoy your evening. You crazy kids."

Her eyes widen and she quickly turns to go with a little wave. She tries to look casual as she walks back toward Buffy.

"Is it him?" Buffy asks in a panicky voice when she is within earshot.

"Totally him. But he doesn't know me."

"How could he not know you?"

"Yeah, right? We were like, _totally_ close. He even tried to bite me once."

"Now is not the time to be offended. Maybe it really isn't him. I mean, we could both be wrong."

"We're not wrong. It's him. That woman he is with – she was in the Magic Box today asking about memory spells."

"He's with a woman?"

"Focus, Buffy. Maybe she wiped his memory somehow? There's no way she could learn to do something like that in a couple of hours. Could she?"

"Did she buy anything? Maybe we could track her down. Ask her some questions."

"I'll look tomorrow when I get in. Promise."

"Okay."

Buffy takes a deep breath and turns to take another look.

"They're gone," She observes, surprised.

"Good. Back to the party?"

Buffy gives her patented 'wide-eyed freaked-out' look.

TBC…

[_Author's Note: Ok so the Spike flashbacks are going to have to span one more chapter….]_


	18. Chapter 18

**Chapter 18**

[flashback continues]

Peia hears a soft knock at the door and in a moment her face erupts with a subtly warm grin. She quickly finishes typing, closes the lid to her laptop and walks purposefully to the door, taking a deep breath on the way hoping to calm her racing heart in time. She pulls the handle and finds Spike leaning against the doorframe looking slightly apologetic.

"Forgot the bloody card again. Sorry."

He smells of cigarettes, as usual, and something else. She wonders sometimes if he smokes to overwhelm the other, to keep her from recognizing the scent of feeding. Blood? Another human's sweat or perfume? Fear? They never mention it explicitly. He will just say he needs to get something to eat as if he were going to pick up some fish and chips or a kebab on the corner. She will nod and agree to meet back at the hotel in a while. She could use the time to get some writing done and they both smile, acknowledging that these are things they do not share.

Tonight, he had been gone a bit longer than usual. But he looks fine, so it must have been fine. She does not ask.

He steps forward through the door, lifts her up with a little half turn as he shuts the door behind them. She wraps her legs around him and they kiss for a moment before he playfully tosses her on the bed. She sits up, wrapping her arms around her bent knees as he tosses his jacket over a chair and grabs a beer from the mini-fridge. He glances at the laptop.

"Is there going to be any sex in this story of yours we've been working on? I mean, it's been good fun so far, but I've heard some things about your _proclivities_ and was rather looking forward to a good shag scene."

"Proclivities? That's a big word," she responds, avoiding the question.

"Don't let the accent and general coolness fool you, I'm an educated man. I think I might have even been rather posh once."

"Educated I can believe. Posh…?"

"Not in _this_ century – bloody Sloane Rangers and the like."

Peia sees his now familiar expression when he tries to remember his past; mild frustration mixed with anger that will only grow if left to hold his attention.

"There is one sex scene. A minimum of one." Peia responds, quick to divert him.

"Now we're getting somewhere. Fire it up," he says enthusiastically, glancing in the direction of her laptop.

"I've already written it."

"Bloody hell."

"It was kind of central and so…I'm sure there's room for improvement," she suggests, hopefully.

"I could still draw it, I suppose."

"Sure," she responds with mild trepidation. He hadn't actually drawn much of anything so far. And she wasn't yet convinced that a graphic novel was the way to go. But could be fun…

"Do you want to read it now?" She adds.

"Nah." He waves it off.

He seems a bit jumpy, not quite pacing. He walks over to the TV, flips it on but then in a few seconds, turns it back off. He pulls out a pack of cigarettes from his jacket, but then stops before pulling one out and throws the pack on the table. Peia watches for a moment with mild amusement before asking,

"What's going on?"

"Sorry. This town gives me the creeps."

"Do you want to leave?" She asks with mild annoyance, as they were just getting settled.

"Nah. It's a familiar sort of creeps, so we should probably stay and figure out why. Talk to that gay witch again."

"Gay witch? First off, she owns a magic shop, which doesn't necessarily make her a witch. And how do you know she's gay?"

"Obvious on both counts," Spike says dismissively before continuing, "And the blonde, too. Something about her..."

"Ok, so we'll talk to them. Is that really why you're so twitchy?" Peia asks. He has never before expressed this kind of nervousness about investigating his memory loss.

Spike sits down on the edge of the bed next to Peia. He shrugs his shoulders as if attempting to dispel the tension. After a momentary pause, he takes a deep (unnecessary) breath and turns to look at her.

"I got you something."

Peia smiles a little awkward smile. This is not terribly unusual. He often brings her little things – a flower, chocolates, ice cream. But this time his tone is more serious.

"Okay." She watches him closely, desperately trying to interpret his expression. Is this supposed to be irony? She feels the blood rush into her cheeks.

Spike fishes in the font pocket of his jeans. He pulls out a ring, which he then blows on to get the pocket lint off.

"Remember, you saw it in that antique shop window the other day. Was a bit of a bugger to find once they'd stashed everything away for the night."

She did remember. It was a beautiful ring. Jewelry rarely caught her attention, but she did have a soft spot for antiques and she had paused long enough in the window that day to be obvious. Not that she had given it a second thought since.

She looks at Spike, who is just staring at the ring in his hand. She looks at the ring, then back at Spike. This isn't just a gift. After a long pause, he starts talking again.

"Not really sure how this works and all with the likes of us. Or even quite what I'm supposed to ask. But I love you. Every minute of every day. And I don't want it to stop. I want to keep being this happy. And I want you to be this happy. I hope you are…But I…I'd be miserable with you, too, you know? If that was the choice." His voice trails off.

Peia's brain reminds her that this is ridiculous. This whole thing. And perhaps not even real. Maybe she is in a coma somewhere, this universe a product of her mind's ennui. But the rest of her is screaming with emotion, strong enough to make her feel like she will either throw up or burst into tears. Never in her life had she felt this kind of elation, though she had imagined it, as daydreamers do. But nothing compares to reality. She had already done the unthinkable – she had let her world wrap around this man in front of her; she had released the strangle hold she kept as protection and let herself love him in a way her mind knew was unsustainable. It was beautiful. And terrifying.

And so, at this moment here, now, when the parachute has opened, the safety net in place, the ground soft like a pillow she lets herself be happy. She smiles with only the hint of a tear in her eyes and reaches over to touch the ring in Spike's hand.

In a voice desperate to be casual with only a slight quaver, she says, "How about this. You promise to shag me every night for some period of time, renewable upon mutual happiness."

Spike lets out a relieved laugh.

"With this ring, I promise to shag you every night, with exception only for gross bodily injury or extreme inebriation, for a minimum of the next decade. Longer if we're still up for making each other happy….Or miserable."

"Terms accepted," she responds with a smile, taking the ring and putting it on the ring finger of her left hand. And with that, in the brief moment she takes to close her eyes and reset her thoughts, she hears the very smallest noise she can imagine; a noise whose intensity is entirely disproportionate to its importance. She hears the sound of a thread snapping, a line of spider silk breaking; the last thing holding her back.

A few days later, while Spike lay fast asleep, Peia slips out from the covers, gets dressed and heads to the Magic Shop II. The previous two days having gone past in a blur of emotionally fuelled shagging, random adventures (their specialty) and a variety of gloriously ridiculous moments (there _might_ have even been kitten poker). But by the third day, she had decided it was time to get back to the task at hand.

Arriving at the MSII, she walks in, heads straight back to the reference section, pulls out the giant book on memory and begins to pull a notebook and pen out from her bag. A quick moment later, Willow appears with a cup of tea in her hand.

"Brought you some tea. Peppermint," Willow chirps with forced casualness.

"Thanks. You want to sit down?" Peia responds.

"I do."

"Have a seat. Thanks for the tea."

"I don't want to pry, but that man you were with last night…"

"Spike."

"Spike, oh, that's an unusual name. Uh, is he a…"

"Vampire? Yes, yes he is."

"How did you two meet? If you don't mind my asking." As she says this, she is glancing obviously down at the book. She also notes the lack of bite-marks.

Peia frowns, trying to interpret what Willow must be thinking. Finally, she puts it together.

"You think I wiped his memory. You know him from before. You were friends?"

Willow is a bit nervous about being so direct. For all she knows, this woman before her is a powerful witch and will react badly to being called out. There is back-up in the store – she had requested Buffy send a couple of the young slayers to mill about in case things went pear shaped.

"'Friends' is a strong word. But yes, I knew him."

"How long ago?"

"Twenty years. About. Why would you…?"

"Oh, I didn't. He was this way when I met him. I mean, I didn't know it then. He didn't even know it. But…"

"What? I'm confused."

"Sorry. Wow. Twenty years." Peia is caught up in her own thoughts before she notices Willow's expectant look. "When I met him, he had memories, but they weren't his own. At least most of them weren't. Are you a witch?"

"Card carrying. So he didn't know he didn't know. Interesting. That would take a pretty complex spell to overwrite memories with new ones."

"So it could have been a spell?" Peia asks, excitedly.

"Sure."

"So it can be undone?"

"It's tricky. Technically, one witch can't undo the spell of another witch unless the exact spell is known."

"Oh," Peia responds, feeling a bit disheartened.

"And though we may be able to bring back most of his memories from before the original spell was cast, the time in between – during the active stage of the spell – may not come back entirely."

Peia feels a lump in her throat and is not able to say anything in response, so she just nods.

"But there might be a workaround. What else can you tell me?"

Peia tells Willow everything she knows about Spike's situation and memory. In the end, Will says she will need to do some reading and brainstorm with some other witches before they can come up with a plan to help Spike. She tells Peia to wait a minute and after disappearing behind the stacks for a few minutes (during which time, Peia can hear whispered arguing between Willow and an unidentified male voice), Willow returns with a book.

"Before we go any further, you might want to read this," Willow says with a glimmer of sympathy.

"A history of Vampyres, Volume XXII," Peia reads.

"You'll find Spike's entry under 'William the Bloody'."

Peia takes the book, her hands shaking slightly. "Can I take it with me?"

A male voice from behind the stacks erupts with a "NO!"

"Sorry, but you'll have to read it here. I'll get more tea," Willow offers.

A couple of hours later, Willow turns to see Peia carrying the book, open, walking towards her, looking a bit pale.

"It says he's dead," she says, confused.

"Twice, actually. He died twice. There aren't bodies to recover when vampires die. The first time there were witnesses, but I guess the second time they just assumed since there were no survivors to say otherwise."

"Guess its true what they say about assuming," Peia shrugs nervously, not able to think of anything clever to say. She closes the book and hands it to Willow.

"Nobody would blame you if you walked away. Knowing what you know now." She lowers her voice slightly before continuing, "Just sayin' maybe it would better for everyone if he _didn't_ remember," Willow offers, frowning with concern as she takes the book.

"Thanks. Please let me know what you find out about the spell. Here is my cell number," Peia responds plainly, scribbling some numbers on a scrap of paper.

Peia walks toward the exit but stops after a couple of steps.

"One more thing. What's a slayer?"

Peia didn't actually get a proper answer to that question until much later. Willow had to answer a phone call and had said, cryptically, that her question could not be answered quickly and that she would explain later.

Peia did her best to keep the information she had learned to herself. She tried to not let it affect her interactions with Spike. But it was not easy. His history was epic. And this asymmetry she feared had the potential to wreak havoc on their relationship. Still, she put it out of her mind as best she could and carried on as usual.

Willow found a series of spells that she thought would work. It was contingent on finding something that Spike had held back when he still had his original memories. Willow cryptically suggested that Peia might ask Buffy (the recent 40 year old from the bar the other night). She explained that they had all worked together back in the day when Buffy was "The Slayer". It had taken a few minutes for Peia to link Willow's loaded comments to what she had read in the history book.

"_It was rumored that William had become romantically involved with a Slayer he originally sought to kill. Although this information would typically be of little consequence for the official history (and more appropriate for the tabloids), we choose to include it here, as some would argue that this relationship represented a turning point in his life. That, in fact, it was his love for this Slayer that drove him to seek the restoration of his soul, which hence, resulted in his final sacrifice in the service of those who would traditionally seek to destroy him and his ilk. Others offer a different interpretation…."_

So one day, Peia showed up at Buffy's house in the middle of the day. It was a hectic visit due to the presence of Buffy's husband, Xander, and their two young children. There was much in the way of public denials of the existence of any 'keepsakes', but in a private moment, Buffy quietly handed Peia a handkerchief in which was wrapped a metal lighter and wished her good luck. She could tell Buffy was nervous about what might all come of this and she certainly needed to be convinced that it was necessary. Peia tried not to over-interpret.

Then the day came. All the pieces were in place, all the witches assembled. Buffy was not in attendance. The old Watcher observed from a distance. Spike was a baffling mix of skepticism, nerves and anger. Peia found his mood uninterpretable, but tried to shrug it off, so focused was she on moving forward. After the symbols were painted, the words spoken, the lighter ignited, Spike's eyes closed and he slumped for just a moment. Peia realized she had stopped breathing and needed to gasp for a breath, causing everyone to abruptly look at her. By the time they all turned back to Spike, whose eyes were now open, it was obvious to Peia that the spell had worked. Something in his expression, his posture, was just different enough. The moments that followed were a blur to her, clouded in her memory by their significance. She remembers standing up too fast and nearly falling over. Spike had stood up at the same moment and looked at her. She reflexively moved toward him and threw her arms around his neck in celebration. He seemed surprised, pulled back slightly and looked at her with a nearly blank expression. He took a step back.

"I know who you are," he said to Peia. Then he scanned the other people in the group. Finding Willow, he smirked slightly, "I remember you, Red. Where's that fuzzy pink number with the lilac underneath?"

"Aww," Willow replied, "always the charmer. Well, not always exactly."

Then the smirk faded and Spike began to look a bit agitated. He brought his hand to his forehead as if he was just struck by a headache. He turned back to Peia.

"I have to go. I need to sort some things out."

"Yeah. Of course. I… Go. I'll be here."

Spike nodded, still frowning. He began to walk away, but turned after a few steps.

"Thank you," he said before turning back around and disappearing.

Peia just nodded, numb.

Willow called out, annoyed "You're welcome!"

Hours turned into days, days into weeks, weeks into months. Peia set about structuring her wait. She rented a room from a nice lesbian couple, who were friends with one of the witches. She got the job as a bouncer. Discovered her strength. Took up Aikido. Started a new story.

She could wait. She knew how to wait. Waiting was something she had experience with. It was not always easy. It was not fun. But it was familiar. She made friends. Daisy, the seamstress, Billy, the bar owner, Zebedayo, her Aikido instructor. The time passed. She wrote when things got too painful. Never once did it occur to her that he would not come back. It was just a matter of time. She would just wait and when he was ready, he would come back to her. She could wait.

She thought she caught a glimpse of him once – about six months in. She couldn't focus on anything for days afterward. She stopped writing and started drinking. Just for a weekend. Still, at the end of it, she found herself onstage at the club where she worked doing karaoke. They had these voice enhancers that made everyone appear to be able to sing. She was a huge hit – no one had seen her lose control before and found it rather startling. She sang her heart out. Her alcohol drenched brain thought he might be listening….

"It's all your fault" by Pink:

I conjure up the thought of being gone

But I'd probably even do that wrong

I try to think about which way

Would I be able to and would I be afraid

Cause oh I'm bleeding out inside

Oh I don't even mind

It's all your fault

You called me beautiful

You turned me out

And now I can't turn back

I hold my breath

Because you were perfect

But I'm running out of air

And it's not fair

I'm trying to figure out what else to say (What else could I say)

To make you turn around and come back this way (Would you just come back this way)

I feel like we could be really awesome together

So make up your mind cause it's now or never (oh)

It's all your fault

You called me beautiful

You turned me out

And now I can't turn back

I hold my breath

Because you were perfect

But I'm running out of air

And it's not fair

I would never pull the trigger

But I've cried wolf a thousand times

I wish you could

Feel as bad as I do

I have lost my mind

It's all your fault

You called me beautiful

You turned me out

And now I can't turn back

I hold (I hold) my breath (My breath)

Because you were perfect

But I'm running out of air (running out of air)

And it's not fair

I hold my breath

Because you were perfect

But I'm running out of air

And it's not (It's not) fair

Then she caught another glimpse. And another. And another. Spike was in town, for sure. He was with _them_. The slayers. The witches. Why didn't he come to her? Explanations swirled in her head. She should wait. He'll find her. But then came the night when he saw her. She knew he saw her. But then he disappeared again. She spent the next two nights in her basement apartment putting the finishing touches on the final chapter of her story, anything to distract her brain. The minute she sent it off to her editors, she decided she was done waiting. She had to see him. She had to talk to him. It had been real, right? It wasn't part of a story. She looked down at the ring on her finger. "He did give this to me, didn't he?", she thinks. Surely there was just some misunderstanding.

The next night, just as she had finished her shift at the club, she caught a glimpse of him disappearing around the corner. She ran to catch up and shouted after him. He stopped and turned around. He was wearing a coat she hadn't seen before. Long and black. He was still too far away for her to interpret his expression. In a panic, not knowing quite how to begin, she blurts,

"Spare a cigarette?"

He smiles and walks over, fishing a pack out of his coat on the way. He stops in front of her, hands her the pack and flicks his lighter. She hadn't actually been smoking much since he left, but decides to play along and takes a drag before saying anything more.

Spike looks at her with a mix of admiration, pity and warmth.

"You've made quite a name for yourself around here. Even got the slayers' knickers in a twist trying to figure you out."

"How long have you been in town?" Peia asks directly.

"Couple of weeks," Spike shrugs.

"What have you been waiting for?" She replies, desperately trying to hold it together.

"Waitin' for you to finish your story, of course. It's a good one," he smiles, letting some warmth slip.

In a rush of emotion, she reaches forward and slaps him hard across the face. Immediately she regrets it.

"I'm sorry. It's just been so hard and I was confused….and I only wrote the bloody story to pass the time."

"'Completely deserved that. I'm a right prick when I get nervous."

Peia takes deep breath and starts again, this time with a bit more control. "I don't want to rush you, but I feel like I'm running out of air. I need to say some things…"

Spike interrupts, "And I will listen, but I don't think it's a good time right at this very moment." He glances toward the alley, which has suddenly filled up with a group of about 8 to 10 people in black masks.

Peia sighs and mumbles to herself, "now?" She turns back to Spike, explaining,

"It's my black belt test. Scheduled for _sometime_ this week and obviously my dojo master has picked the _worst moment possible_." She says these last three words loudly.

To the crowd, "Can't we do this tomorrow?"

One of the figures shakes their head.

"Don't go anywhere," Peia says sternly to Spike.

The fighting begins in the way she was expecting, but quickly escalates beyond the abilities of the other fighters in her dojo. Soon it is clear that this is a set-up. She is forced to not hold back her strength or quickness as she usually does in class and instead begins to fight as if she were dispatching an unruly group of vampires from the club. The fighting goes on and on and Peia maintains her focus, despite the change in circumstances. More and more of the fighters drop out either due to injury or exhaustion. Just as she is down to the last two, Peia feels a searing pain in her side as one of the previously fallen fighters returns with a taser. As she is collapsing to the ground, she sees Buffy observing from a few feet back next to an older gentleman. Due to inexperience, the woman who tased Peia used too high a voltage, too close to her heart. Soon after falling to the ground, her heart stops.

_[Author's note: This next section is going to be abbreviated for expediency. Wish I had more time….]_

Buffy and Giles rush forward. Mass pandemonium and shouting follows. The use of the taser had not been approved, etc. etc. They take Peia to the hospital where they are able to start her heart again. The smells and sounds of the hospital cause Peia to lose her shit when she regains consciousness (result of her years in a coma & the accident that put her there – PTSD). They give her sedatives, but whenever they wear off, she freaks out again. They put her in restraints, which just makes things worse. The cycle continues until she is given the max amount of sedatives possible. Which make her body limp, though mentally she continues to freak.

Finally, in the middle of the night, Dali sneaks in, breaks her out and takes her back to her crypt to heal. Peia wakes up to Dali brushing her hair and giving her a bath. Dali introduces herself and asks about the story. Peia worries that this is going to turn into a Misery kind of situation, as Dali seems far too invested in the vampire heroine. Peia explains that the final chapter is with the editors and will be posted soon. Peia notices that Dali's crypt is filled with books on bookshelves. They chat about books and writing, etc. Dali is aware of the situation with Spike (because, you know, she's a stalker) and agrees to help Peia recover and clean up so she can go back and find him. Dali accompanies her when she is ready to leave to protect her from another attack. They find Spike leaving the Magic Box II. Peia has a mild desire to go in and chew the slayers/witches/whoever out for, you know, killing her, but is much more invested in working things out with Spike.

Tonight is the night, she believes. She replays the scenario in her mind – the one she has been over and over again while recovering with Dali. She gives him her little speech. He accepts her wisdom about the situation and they spend the rest of the night talking about what he's been up to the last six months. And then shagging and then the rest. The details don't matter, only that after tonight, things go back to a slightly altered version of what they were. And tonight is now.

They let Spike get some distance away from the shop before Peia gives Dali the nod telling her she is ready to go ahead on her own.

"Spike." Peia calls out to him, with steely confidence.

He stops and turns more quickly this time, his shoulders dropping in relief when he sees her. He walks quickly toward her and then slows on approach, as if something is physically holding him back from reaching out and pulling her to him in a tight hug. Instead, he stops short and reaches his hand out and touches her lightly on the cheek.

"Didn't know what'd happened to you, disappearing like that," Spike says with muted emotion.

"I'm fine. No thanks to your _friends_. Still immortal, it seems. Luckily."

"I didn't think they'd…."

"It's okay. That's not what I want to talk about."

Spike suddenly stiffens. "Maybe you should rest. You live over on Driftwood Lane, yeah?"

"I said I'm fine. We should talk," she responds, smiling.

Spike nods.

Peia launches in, "I told myself to be patient. But when you came back and didn't… well, I thought maybe you were waiting for me. Maybe you weren't sure how I'd feel about everything I'd learned about your past or how the memories might change things. And the truth of it is that I can't say for sure. Who knows how important memories are? But the way I see it, I didn't fall in love with who you thought you were. I fell in love with something deeper than that. Something that I believe must still _be_ there. And the stories aren't _that_ different, are they really? Perhaps a bit less epic, but Gillian mostly tweaked – put herself in where others had been. So maybe you are just my Spike with more baggage. And I am good with baggage. I'll help you carry it. I'm stronger than I look. I don't mind. I'm not so naïve to think it will be easy. And I can't promise epic or novel-worthy or apocalyptic romance like you've had before. But what we had was good and fun and perfect in it's own way. Maybe you don't remember clearly, but we were happy. We could be happy. So if there is any small part of you waiting and wondering, I want to be clear. I'm in. I want my decade."

Spike listens intently and when she finishes, he reaches for his cigarettes, pulls one out and lights it, hands shaking subtly. He takes a long drag. He thinks about telling her the he caught that reference to 'the decade' in one of the chapters he'd seen. He really had been reading her story. There are so many things he wants to tell her. But right now, all he can think about is how to make this moment last for an eternity.

Peia smiles and jokes "I've just laid my soul out on a platter, but take your time with that smoke."

He drops the half smoked butt on the ground and steps on the lit end. He stands up straight and looks her straight in the eye for just a moment before looking away.

"I heard your song, you know. I didn't mean to make you wait so long. It's just…..I'm such a bloody coward. I took advantage…I knew you'd wait. And I didn't think I could bear it. And the truth is I can't, but I have to." He glances back up at her face, noting the growing realization. "The thing is, it's just too much. You could sink an oil tanker with the baggage I've got. I _can't_…"

"Turn around." Peia blurts, interrupting. She knows the rest already. It is completely transparent.

"What? Jen, I…" Spike tries to continue.

"Turn around and walk away." Peia says, almost wistfully.

"No, let me at least…."

"Turn around and walk away. _Now_." Peia insists with a frightening authority.

Getting it, Spike does as he is told. He quickly disappears down the street. Peia stands there, unable to move, unable to react. Odd that she never seriously considered that this would happen. Not when Eric told her it would. Not when Willow insinuated the same. Not after six months. Not even when he told her he'd been in town for two weeks. Her belief that it would work out, that all she had to do was _the right thing_ and then wait patiently was so deeply ingrained that faced with the new reality, she can only be witness to her own collapse. She feels it travel down her body, the crushing truth of it; when it gets to her legs, her knees buckle and she falls to the pavement. She is not sure how many minutes pass before her brain regains control of her body and she is able to stand again, if doubled over. Her heart pounding, her head throbbing, she staggers down the street toward her apartment. Soon the tears flow so hot down her cheeks that she can barely see. She is overcome with nausea, pukes in a garbage can and decides to sit for a minute hidden in a narrow alley. Her limbs feel heavy while her mind races, sifting through the last six months, contemplating versions of her future all of which feel sickeningly bleak. She sobs, then shrieks, hoping to expel some emotion.

Minutes (?) later, she hears an angry voice, dragging her out of the endless loop of misery conjured up by her brain, upset to be bathed in such toxic emotion.

"Get up. Get. Up."

She wipes the tears from her eyes and squints toward the source of the words.

Shaking her head, she scowls, "Not tonight, Bruce."

"Oh, it's going to be tonight, _Veronica._"

"NOT TONIGHT," Peia shouts as loud as she can. In a flash, she feels a sharp pain as Bruce kicks her hard in the ribs.

Quickly standing up, she spits, "I think you will find its best _not_ to kick the hornets' nest."


	19. Chapter 19

**Chapter 19**

_Back to the present…._

_[Author's note: If you can't quite remember where we left off, return to Chapter 15]_

With Alcide driving the rental car, Peia's mind is free to wander as she stares blankly out the window, watching the scenery pass. She tries to focus on the bats – how they will accomplish the transfer without bringing them out of their sleep. How quickly she can recreate a suitable place for them once they arrive. Unfortunately, whenever her eyes begin to close, she returns to that night. It is so easy to get sucked back into the pain of it; the emotional and physical meld together in focused intensity. An entire existence, a life, changed in just a few hours. And that speech! That fucking ridiculous speech. How could she have been so stupid as to have uttered those words? She squeezes her eyes shut and shakes her head.

"Is that your phone?" Alcide asks.

"What?" Peia responds, confused for a moment, although happy for the distraction.

"The beeping," he explains.

She fishes her phone out of her bag and sees a text.

_What is your Netflix password?_

She responds: _Shouldn't you be asleep? Been daylight for a couple of hours…_

_Bored. Working on queue._

_Don't mess with my queue._

_Want to add what we talked about last night._

_I'm not giving you my password. Go to bed._

_Fine. Will extract password when you return._

_Could be fun._

_You have no idea._

Peia smirks and puts her phone away. This was something new. Eric had called her last night. It was strange to talk without being in the same room with him. Definitely not something that would have occurred to her. The first few minutes had been awkward. It just seemed wrong somehow. What would they have to talk about? But then it just continued. And then an hour had gone by. She could not think of the last time she had talked on the phone for an hour. It was fun and strange and yet surprisingly normal. Which makes no sense. But neither does chatting with Eric Northman on the phone for an hour. Still, why not? Passes the time.

"Eric?" Alcide guesses.

Peia just nods. She futzes with her phone for a minute.

"Lets stop in Chattanooga. I'll book something." The trip was a good 24 hours long – too much to do in one day.

"Fine."

They arrive in Chattanooga and as they approach the hotel, the car gets bumped from behind by some doofus teenager driving an F-150. They decide not to bother reporting the accident, but during the time it takes to sort things out with the kid, the car heats up. They had been running the air at maximum to keep the bats cold, but when they were hit, the hatch popped open and it took them a while to secure it back down.

A short time later when Peia returns to the car from the hotel lobby with the room keys, Alcide has a worried expression.

"What is it?" Peia asks.

"They're moving," he responds, glancing to the travel cage they had rigged up.

"Dammit. They'll use up their reserves in a few hours," Peia answers, concerned. "Help me bring them inside."

They bring the crate in and put it in one of the two rooms. Peia quickly turns the AC in the room up as far as it will go.

"Want me to go out and get some bat chow or something?" Alcide offers.

"They're vampire bats. They don't stock blood pellets at Petco, last I checked," she snarks.

"I'm just trying to help. What about a butcher's shop or something?" He suggests.

"It's too late – butchers won't be open now," she frowns.

Peia shakes her head and starts rolling up her sleeve.

"What are you doing?" Alcide asks in horror.

"I'm going to feed them. I won't let them die. They don't drink much, though I wish there weren't quite so many," she adds, concerned.

"Come on. There must be another option."

"I suppose you could go out and get a deer or something. You are a wolf, right, so you could go out and find a deer and bring it back here alive and then we could sneak it into the room and…."

Alcide considers this a moment before responding, "yeah, maybe I just go and get you some bandages."

Peia nods, opens the door of the crate and slowly inserts her naked arm.

After a while, she enters the adjoining room while wrapping a bandage around her arm. Alcide is reading a magazine on one of the beds.

"Did it work?" He asks.

"I think so. They seemed happy and went back to sleep. Doesn't hurt. But it may be a bugger getting it to stop bleeding." She feels a bit lightheaded.

"I think the bar is still open downstairs. Want to get a drink?"

"Absolutely."

They both get a beer and sit at a small bar table. After downing most of the beer rather quickly, Alcide is the first to talk.

"Guess you must be used to that," Alcide comments indicating her arm.

Peia lets out a small laugh.

"You held out longer than I thought."

"What?"

"I figured twelve hours was probably your max before the snarky vampire comments started. And you made it close to sixteen."

"Come on. What's a girl like you hanging around Eric for?"

"Define a 'girl like me'", she counters.

"Not a stripper. Kind of normal, aside from the whole bat thing. Smart. Lets just say you're not exactly his type, from what I've seen."

"I'm curious. What's his type?"

"Tall. Blonde. Big boobs. Slutty."

"Nice."

"Exactly. And don't change the subject."

She finishes her beer and orders another before answering.

"Let me start by saying that I have no delusions of romance here. For some reason, I caught his eye – not for the usual reasons. Maybe competition – I was with another vampire. Did you ever watch Seinfeld?"

"Some. Why?"

"Remember the episode where George comes up with this scam to get dates with models? He realizes that all he has to do is pretend that he used to date a model and then, incredibly, if they believe it, they will all want to date him? I think maybe it's the same with vampires. They see you with one, they think to themselves that there must be something interesting to hold his attention and then they want to find out for themselves. So something like that."

"Okay, well that explains why he is with you, but you still haven't answered my question. I mean, the guy isn't just a vampire. He's a gangster. Is it the bad boy thing?" He says, accusingly, shaking his head.

"Family. He offered me family. You're a wolf – you should understand the importance of that. Or aren't werewolves the same? Do you run in packs?"

"Some do. Not me. Not for a while."

"But you miss it."

"Sometimes. It can get complicated."

"Sure. But it's a powerful idea. To always have a place to go. To always have someone to look out for you. Without the whimsy of love."

"And you think Eric will give that to you?"

"I do. Once the romance fades away, and he goes back to his 'type' or finds another to capture his fascination, we'll still be family. You said he was a gangster, which is pretty fair. But even to Tony Soprano, family comes first."

"Maybe," Alcide responds, skeptical.

Alcide wakes up to the sound of mumbling. Peia, in the next bed, is thrashing and talking, obviously in the midst of a nightmare. He listens carefully, trying to decide whether or not to wake her.

"Have to find them. Have to…I've left them. I forgot. Where are they?"

He gets out of bed and walks over to her. Just as he is reaching over to her to give a gentle shake, her eyes flash open. He is startled. She quickly sits up, brings her hands to her the sides of her head and starts blinking frantically. She is shaking.

"Are you okay?" Alcide asks, despite the answer being obvious.

"Pills. Vial in my bag," she spits with effort.

He flips the light on and searches the room for her bag.

"Hurry! If he knows, he'll come. He'll think…" She urges, worried that already Eric might sense her distress.

Alcide finds the bags and the vial. He tries to hand it to her, but she shakes her head, seemingly unable to bring her arms down from her head.

"Grind up the pill – two – put it in water."

He follows her instructions and returns with a plastic cup. She looks at him, the whites of her eyes glimmering in the soft light of the room. He puts the cup to her lips and tips it up. She swallows and then they wait. After five minutes, the shaking stops and her breathing becomes more regular. A couple of minutes later, she lowers her arms. Now her eyes blink with tiredness.

"That must have been some wicked dream," Alcide comments.

"Not a dream, exactly. A memory. One I can't always suppress when I am asleep. Sorry. Could you hand me my phone?"

She quickly texts Eric, _Bad Dream. Fine now._

"Since we're up, why don't we just pack up and hit the road. I don't mind if you sleep it off in the car. I'd just assume get back." What a weird few days this has been.

"Sure."

Peia is relieved that this was not nearly so bad as the last time. She does not actually remember much. She never does. Spike remembers, though. Somewhere between Louisiana and California – maybe El Paso? – he had woken up to an empty bed. He didn't worry much until he didn't find a note. Then he saw her cell phone still on the table. It had taken the better part of the night to find her. When he did, she was at a train station, approaching random strangers, doubled over as if someone had punched her in the stomach.

"I need to get back. How did I get here? I left them in New York. Oh god, how long have I been gone? Please, can you help me get a ticket? It's been so long. What will they eat?"

She said the same thing when he approached her, eyes glazed with desperation. It took a while to work out what she was talking about. Peia had never told him the details of her life before the coma – she didn't like to talk about it except in the most vague terms.

"Please. I need to get to New York. I have left my children. Three boys. Luke, Ernie and…and…I can't remember. Please. I don't know how I got here, but I have to get back to them. I think it's been months. What's happened to them? Why am I here?"

Spike had grabbed hold of her and looked her straight in the eye.

"Jen. It's me, Spike. Look at me. You know me."

Confused, she had shaken her head, then looked around with wild eyes.

"I need to get back to them. They need me."

"No, they don't."

"Please. I forgot and left them. I don't know why I did. I can't remember."

"Jen. Listen to me. You don't have any children now. Look at me," Spike pleads in a calm, comforting voice.

He shakes her, not too violently. Her eyes slowly stop moving and fix on his. It is as if she is in a trance.

With tears in her eyes, she asks, "but where are they?"

He guesses, "There was an accident a long time ago. Remember?"

"An accident?" She parrots back to him, with just a hint of a question.

"Yes. A long time ago. They don't need you now. They're in ….heaven or something."

She takes this in a moment.

"An accident. They're dead. A long time ago." She starts to cry and then falls to her knees.

"But who will look after them there? They can't go on their own. They'll be so afraid. They're only little."

Guessing again, "Your husband was there, too. With them. In the accident. He'll take them, I expect. They won't be afraid because they'll have their dad."

She nods, accepting this. She sits there a few moments, staring off into space before going completely still. She inhales deeply and then glances around as if coming out of a deep sleep. She wipes the tears from her eyes and sighs, embarrassed. Spike hands her a lit cigarette.

Thinking back, she can usually identify the trigger after an attack. Sometimes a smell or a sound or a song on the radio. Rarely a conscious thought. It was a small miracle that Spike had been able to bring her out of it so quickly. The attacks varied in severity, for sure. That night in El Paso was hardly the worst.

Luckily, this time it was just a dream and the pills were handy – probably the fender bender, the sound of metal crushing metal.

Soon they are on their way. Peia looks forward to the calmness brought on by Eric's touch, the tension still gripping her, despite the medicine.

Peia and Alcide arrived in Shreveport just before sunset. They go directly to Fangtasia and begin to unload both the bat cage and the various things Peia had picked up in New York. She gets to work clearing out a space for the bats, making sure it is ventilated and that there is an adequate opening to the outside. It is warm enough here in Louisiana for them to forage on their own as necessary. Shortly after the sun disappears, Eric and Pam arrive. Peia walks into the main room holding a piece of wood. Alcide is sitting at the bar having a glass of water. There is an awkward moment of silence, as if they are all wondering what is supposed to happen next. Not taking his eyes off Peia, Eric reaches in his jacket pocket for an envelope, hands it to Alcide with a curt "You can go now." Which comes off as more of a command than a choice. Alcide takes the envelope grumpily and starts to walk out.

"I hope there's a tip in there. He was very helpful." Peia offers.

"Helpful, perhaps, but not adequately discreet as per my instructions," Eric counters.

"Whatever," Alcide huffs, shaking his head.

"_Eric_," Peia pleads, playfully.

"There is a tip," Eric sighs.

Alcide glances down at the envelope briefly with a pleased shrug before heading out the door.

Peia and Eric just stand staring at each other from across the room. Now that the initial moment has passed, it seems odd to rush together for an embrace. Instead, Peia utters a quick "hi," with a small smile.

"Your arm." Eric observes, noticing the bandage and the faint aroma of dried blood.

"I had to feed the bats," Peia responds.

"Do you think it was wise to give them _your_ blood?" He asks.

She thinks a moment before understanding that his concern is not for her discomfort. Super bats? Vampire vampire bats? Will have to see how that plays out…

"Guess I should have made Alcide volunteer," she concedes.

"Do they have what they need? Are you free to leave them?" He takes a few steps forward, stopping just an arm's length away.

"I was just looking for another piece of wood like this – to corral them so they won't fly into the club area when they leave to forage."

"Or, how about we don't keep them in the club at all?" Pam snipes.

"You'll like _these_ bats. They're _vampire_ bats," Peia offers hopefully.

"I don't care if they drink faery blood and shit gold nuggets. They're bats. If they get within arm's reach, I'm killing the little fuckers." Pam retorts, shuddering at the thought of having to touch one.

"We'll put up your corral tonight and then perhaps we can have something built for them off the premises," Eric suggests.

Peia responds after a moment, "Sure. Or… maybe we could put in a glass wall so customers could see them. You know, like an exhibit."

"We are not a zoo," Eric counters.

"Aren't we, though?" Peia responds.

Pam thinks a minute. "She's got a point. I guess it could be a draw. Mildly badass. But no flying around in the club – they go in and out the back."

Peia nods her agreement.

"Draw up some designs – we can work on this tomorrow."

"I just need a hammer and some more wood and I'll put these up."

Eric looks annoyed.

Seeing his look Pam takes a step forward, saying "Fine, show me where you want them and I'll have John do it when he gets in." She takes the board from Peia before adding, "take him out of here. He's been clingy and pissy all week. I need some _me_ time — I'll be out back _auditioning_ dancers."

Pam leaves.

"Lets take your things back to the house. I want to show you something."

Peia smirks, "Is it in your pants?"

"Something else. Pants stay on until you give me your password."

"You're going to withhold sex to get my password?"

"Would it work?"

"Absolutely, but its not much fun."

"Lets go."

Peia picks up a bag of things she had brought on the trip and they walk out to a car parked in the back. It is strange, because they still have not touched. Not a hug or a peck on the cheek. As the time passes, as they make there way to the house, up to the door, the lack of touch becomes intentional. As if they are playing a game. They get closer and closer, but skin stays apart from skin. And yet, they both are desperate for it. They both long for the comfort, the spark, the thrill of their unique connection. One could call it sexual tension, but it really is not quite the same. Still, they are dancing around the moment like children hoarding the last piece of Halloween candy, months later.

Once inside, Peia decides not to play anymore. She tosses her bag down, watching Eric walk across the room and before even glancing around, she asks, "Aren't you going to kiss me?" with just a hint of concern.

"I want to show you something. Once I kiss you, I won't want to do anything else."

This makes her smile. "So what is it?"

He gestures across the room. Where the "kitchen" used to be is now a room with a door. There is a long window across the wall facing the living room. She walks over and peers in. Surprised, she quickly walks to the door and steps into the room. In a moment, Eric is behind her, watching her explore.

"You've built me a kitchen. A proper kitchen. With appliances," she practically gasps.

"The room is sealed and there is a vent to the outside."

"So the smell won't bother you."

He nods, pleased with himself.

"It's gorgeous. I don't think I've ever had a kitchen this nice (she's exaggerating a bit). Thank you."

"If there is anything I have forgotten or anything not done to your liking, I can get the contractors back in."

"I can't believe they were able to get this done in just a few days."

"I am good at motivating employees," Eric responds in a rather sinister voice.

She turns and walks up to him, purposefully. She lifts herself up on her tiptoes and simultaneously puts her hand on the skin of his neck and softly presses her cheek next to his. The relief of the touch makes her knees wobbly. Sensing her faltering balance, Eric wraps his arms around her, pulling her tight to him.

She whispers softly in his ear, "you are good to me."

Next, she hears his fangs drop…


	20. Chapter 20

**Chapter 20**

Eric flinches in his sleep, a flash of fear piercing his dream, the prickly brightness of sunlight. By the time he opens his eyes, it is dark. She must have forgotten to close the blind in the kitchen again. He turns over to confirm that she has indeed left the bed. He had once again abandoned the coffin, even the new one he and Pam had shopped for when Peia was away. Loath as he was to admit it, he had grown accustomed to her warmth, her breath, the steady beating of her heart. He found his inability to rest in the coffin disconcerting and vaguely felt the need to discover a way to return to his old ways. Perhaps tomorrow.

Eric was pleased at how well Peia was settling in. In addition to helping at the club, he was pleasantly surprised by her interest and talent in the more physical aspects of _the business_. For sure, she was not cruel like Pam, but also not as charitable as he would have predicted. She was always careful to voice any objections to his instructions in private. Her steely logic in matters of business and justice were an asset. Most importantly, all of this made him pleased _with himself_ for choosing her, something he always enjoys.

As a lover, she was unemotional, but wildly enthusiastic. He enjoyed the attention she paid to him, the way she seemed to study and explore his body with a long forgotten erotic curiosity. Strange that he had not yet found his eye wandering, a sign of the inevitable boredom. Of course, it has still been merely the blink of an eye. All things in time.

Wednesdays were movie night, if there was no pending business to attend to. Eric, Pam and Peia would sit together in the theatre room. Peia always made popcorn – one of the few food smells that did not disgust the vampires. Too often, the movie would fail to hold their attention and Eric and Peia would make out on the couch, prompting Pam to snark "If I knew it was date night, I would have brought a fucking date. You guys are like a pair of teenagers in heat." Tonight, the movie was Centurian – one Peia assured they would like due to all the death and dismemberment. Plus Eric _hated_ the Romans, so he was always up for any depiction of their suffering. Peia had picked it because the villains were both women. One of her obsessions.

As the film ends, Peia says "Well I know who I am dressing as on Halloween. I just need a horse, one of those fantastic double-headed axe things, some hair teaser and black smudgy eye make-up."

"Halloween. Or _tomorrow_?" Eric says with obvious anticipation.

"Could you go that long without talking?" Pam asks (the villain was mute).

"That would be the best part," Peia responds.

Suddenly, they hear the doorbell ring. Odd. They all exchange glances.

"Pam?"

"What, it's your house!" She answers, indignantly.

"I've got a woman on me," he shrugs, pulling Peia onto his lap.

"Damn, I wish I had that excuse," Pam retorts.

A few minutes after she leaves, they hear her say, "Eric. I think you'd better come in here."

Eric playfully tosses Peia off his lap and gets up. There is an odd, otherworldly looking man in a formal suit standing at the door. He is wearing a hat and feathered mask. In a voice that doesn't sound human, he says,

"Eric Northman."

Eric steps forward. Quicker than the eye can see, the man takes a short knife, slashes Eric's arm and collects the blood on a large, formal looking envelope. The man then smears the blood evenly across the paper and in fancy lettering, Eric's name appears. He then hands the envelope to Eric and after a quick bow, disappears from the doorway.

"Is that what I think it is?" Pam asks before Eric has a chance to open it.

"I believe so." Eric responds calmly.

Pam lets out a little excited squeal. Peia steps into the room.

"What is it?" She asks, confused.

"An invitation. To the Black Moon Ball."

Pam clarifies, "Otherwise known as 'The-best-fucking-vampire-party-ever'. The host is very old and _very_ rich."

"It's in New Orleans. When was the last one?" Eric asks Pam.

"Had to be five years," she answers before adding, "How much time do we have?"

She moves to snatch the invite. Eric at first pulls it back playfully, but then lets her have it.

"It's next Saturday!" She frowns in Peia's direction and adds, "It's going to take at least that long to get her cleaned up and ready to be seen."

"Hey!" Peia exclaims, defensively.

"Oh please. It's like a fucking debutante ball for vampires. Anybody who is _anybody_ will be there. You have to look the part, or you'll embarrass us all."

"Maybe not all of us," Eric retorts in defense.

"I'm in. Sounds fun," Peia shrugs.

"Excellent. We've got some serious shopping to do. And spa appointments to make." She squints her eyes at Peia before adding, "Are you ready to go blonde yet? Because then we could all match."

Peia shakes her head.

"Well, we'll have to do _something_ with that." She waves her hand in the direction of Peia's hair.

Time passes quickly and Peia gets caught up in the excitement of it all. Turns out Jessica and Sookie will be going with Bill. Pam repeatedly remarks that Bill was not invited to the last one. Because he was a fucking nobody. But now that he fancies himself King... She is very competitive about the whole thing and insists that she and Peia and Eric must outdo the others in every way possible. Much money is spent on clothes and jewelry. Peia just goes with the flow, actually pleased that Sookie and Jessica will be there so she will have someone to talk to.

The night of "The Ball", Pam and Peia arrive at Fangtasia – the limo is picking them up there and taking them into the city for the party. Eric is already at the club, in time to give last minute instructions to the staff. They had decided to keep Fangtasia open, so all the non-invitees have a place to go – alt Ball, as they are calling it. As the women enter the club, there is a noticeable silence. Dressed to the nines, looking fabulous, they make quite an entrance. The regulars & bar staff don't even recognize Peia at first.

Pam is the first to speak. "She cleans up nicely. I managed to dig up some glamour under all that…lack of effort." This is the closest thing to a compliment Pam ever gives.

Eric responds, "You both look exquisite. We will certainly be the best looking family at the party."

"Damn straight." Pam enthuses.

"Just so you know, I am _not_ fighting in this dress. If there's trouble, ya'll are on your own," Peia offers with amused confidence.

"I need to grab my handbag out of the safe. Be back in five," Pam says as she heads to the back room.

Peia saunters up to Eric, admiring the elegance of his form in the beautifully tailored all-black tuxedo. She is wearing a curve hugging burgundy red satin dress with lace overlay and off the shoulder cap sleeves. Eric closely scans her look, twirling her around once she is close enough. Her hair is up in a French twist, her bangs dyed to color of her dress.

"You look positively regal," he observes, eyes wide with admiration.

"A fit date for a prince?" She smiles.

"A prince?"

"Men didn't grow as big as you are a thousand years ago unless they were rich. And the only rich men were royalty."

He smiles, "Clever girl. But that was a long time ago. Such titles have long since turned to dust."

Just then, a messenger arrives – just like the one who delivered the original invitation. Eric frowns and takes the small envelope. He reads aloud.

"Due to a security breach, The Ball has been forced to change venues. As the new space is smaller, each invitee is allowed only one guest. There will be no exceptions."

Peia's smile quickly turns to a disappointed frown. Her shoulders hunch slightly.

"You have to take Pam. Of course," she states, defeated.

Eric nods, apologetically.

She mumbles to herself, "Oh my god, I'm a Mormon. This is what it feels like to be the second wife."

"What?" Eric asks.

"Nothing. Just let me think a minute." She is shocked at her disappointment. She hadn't realized just how much she was looking forward to being on Eric's arm.

"What's up? That frown is really not working for you," Pam asks as she approaches them.

"I can't go to The Ball," Peia explains. Eric hands Pam the card.

"This is outrageous! Fuckers can't change the rules hours before the party starts," Pam is genuinely disappointed. She was proud of the transformation she had accomplished and wanted to show off her work.

"I have to go do something. Don't leave yet." Peia then disappears into one of the back rooms.

"What is going on with this shit? Has this ever happened before?" Pam asks, indignant.

"Not that I am aware of. It must be political."

"Political. How?"

"Find out who Bill has chosen."

"Sure. I'll text Jessica."

After about ten minutes, Peia returns looking refreshed and in better spirits.

"I will take you out tomorrow in that dress. Someplace appropriately expensive," Eric offers.

"No need. I have plans. Not going to let six hours in the salon go to waste. This (she gestures to herself) needs to be seen by someone other than the losers here at Fangtasia."

"What plans?" Eric asks, a bit dubious.

"Have the driver drop me at this address (she holds up a piece of paper). It's a bar downtown. You can pick me up after your Ball. _If_ I'm ready to go." She strides toward the door.

Eric looks at Pam, who just shrugs.

They all pile into the limo and start driving. After a few minutes, Pam's phone beeps.

"He's taking Sookie."

"Of course he is. Stupid fuck. This could be bad for us."

"The old folks won't approve?" Pam asks with mild snark.

"The old and the powerful grow frustrated by the influence of the AVL. They are looking for reasons to create dissent in this Kingdom. And as we are currently linked to Bill's reign, his choices affect us. Choosing to bring a human over his own offspring will be seen as evidence of his priorities."

"Or maybe its just a party," Pam offers.

They arrive at the bar and Peia gets out.

"Are you sure about this?" Eric asks again.

"It's fine. No problem. Have fun." Peia responds, unconvincingly.

The door closes and after a minute or two, Pam says,

"You know it's not fine, right?"

"She said it was fine."

"You can't possibly be that stupid. Has it really been _that_ long since you had a girlfriend?"

"Girlfriend? We are not school children."

"Oh please. Call it what you like. It's not fine and she will hold this against you. Or at the least, she will add it to the list of things that she isn't quite happy about. Because that is what girlfriends _do_."

"In your infinite wisdom in these matters, what do you suggest I do?" He asks with intentional snark.

"Usually I'd suggest jewelry, but Peia is a bit of an odd one. Maybe flowers. Or a plant or something."

Eric nods suddenly.

"What's that smirk for?"

"I know what to get her."

"Fanfuckingtastic. Perhaps you should also get _me_ something for helping maintain family harmony. I'm just saying."

"Good thing I view greed as a virtue." He says, lifting her hand and kissing it.

Peia looks down at her phone, which is giving her directions to the bar. Earlier, she had gone online and posted a message to her fan-base reading,

"In New Orleans, all dressed up and no place to go. Suggestions of bars/clubs/restaurants welcome. Anyone want to meet?"

Someone had responded and voila. Sure he/she could turn out to be a crazy stalker/axe murderer, but she just needed plans. ANY plans would do. And she was quite confident that even in this dress, she could kick the ass of any run-of-the-mill axe murderer. In the end, the fan meeting her turned out to be a rather well-off, mildly eccentric gay man named Max. They had a lovely late dinner together, after which he invited her to his house where he had invited friends and fans for a late-night impromptu party. It turned into a rather fun night of drinking and dancing and story swapping. The people were lovely and welcoming and she was quickly in the mood for a good knees-up. She found herself talking quite a bit with Max, eventually agreeing to write a special story for he and his fiance, who was currently out of town. She jotted down some notes of what he particularly liked and promised to send him something x-rated by their anniversary in a months' time.

"So what's it like dating a vampire?" He'd asked with true curiosity.

"It's good. An escape. Eric is beautiful and important and full-of-himself. Sometimes I feel like the alt girl in high school dating the captain of the football team. Only the football captain is actually a thousand year old vampire sheriff and I am, well, an alt girl. I try not to think about it."

"Don't sell yourself short, girlfriend. If I weren't gay, I'd be all over that! With the writing and the dress and the hair. You got plenty going on. Though I guess much of that wouldn't impress me if I wasn't gay. Gosh, so hard to imagine 'not gay'. But you know what I'm sayin'."

She had been ignoring the buzzing of her phone all night. It wasn't that she was angry with Eric. It was right that he took Pam. But it left her feeling adrift somehow. And that translated into her having to prove something to herself – what, that she didn't need him? She doesn't know. But she did take some pleasure in making him wait. He was angry when she finally texted him. She knew not to invite him into Max's house. When the bartender had told him that she had dinner with a nice looking man, he all but flew into a jealous rage. He had arrived at Max's ready to rip his throat out and it took a few minutes for Peia to explain that there was no problem, that Max was gay and that she was just having a good time with her new friends. Pam helped to talk him down, reminding him about their earlier conversation. Finally, Peia just walked out of the house, waving goodbye to her friends. Eric grabbed her arm, not gently, and led her into the limo.

Once inside, he huffed, "You smell." She did, of bourbon and whiskey and sweat.

"Well you _don't_." She replied, pointedly. She missed the smell of men and wanted him to know it.

They did not speak, but the bitterness slowly dissipated, burned off like mist in their proximity. By the time they made it back to Shreveport, everyone was amicable again, albeit tired. Peia made some perfunctory inquiries about the Ball and received minimal information in return. She would get the scoop from Sookie later. Arriving at the house, they only had a few minutes until daylight. Pam went straight to her bedroom and Peia and Eric went directly into the inner room.

Eric lay on the bed, watching her take off her costume jewelry.

"I thought of you all night in that dress. To others, you appear a different person. You wear this look as naturally as you wear your cargo pants. How is that possible?"

"You don't know everything about me, Eric."

"I would have enjoyed watching others watch you at the party. Though likely, I would have neglected my mingling duties as a result."

"Take your last look. You won't see me in this dress again," she says, rather ambiguously, reaching her arms behind her back to work on the zipper.

Eric leaps up and stands in back of her.

"Let me."

She melts at the touch of his hands on her shoulder. He starts to pull on the zipper, but then changes his mind. Instead, he pushes her forward against the side wall, slips his hands between her legs and….

[_Author's note: Rumor has it is cracking down on MA fics, so I will stop there. If you want to see non PG rated fics, check me out at (pen name: Mad)]_

About a week later, Peia is sent on an errand to Merlott's. She is looking forward to chatting with Sookie about the party and seeing the other regulars as well. Arriving, she is disappointed to find that Sookie is not working – Jessica is covering her shift. Also, instead of finding Terry in the kitchen, with whom she had struck up a friendly acquaintance since that night he had given her a ride, she found Lafayette. She had met Lafayette only once before – back when she was in town with Spike. Since she had been back in town, he had been away, so she had all but forgotten about his existence. Not wanting to have wasted a trip (the errand was mostly just an excuse to drop by), she decided to have a quick drink and wait for Jessica's next break to have a chat.

Sam has been somewhat guarded around Peia since he found out she was with/working for Eric. He always made sure she got a free drink when she came to the bar, but it did not seem motivated by genuine friendliness, despite appearances. It was more perfunctory, as if she were a cop and this was a donut shop. In any case, she happily sat at the bar with her scotch making some idle chit-chat. After a few minutes, Lafayette came out of the kitchen and sat down next to her. She was a bit thrown by his friendliness and wondered if she had forgotten some conversation or interaction they'd had.

"Hey, girl. Sook said you were back in town."

"Yeah. Settling in. You've been out seeing the world?" She responds, politely.

He nods. "Seen some weird shit. But it's all life, experience, you know. Damn happy to be back in this shit-hole. Never thought I'd hear myself say _that_."

"I guess it has a peculiar sort of charm." She responds.

He shrugs. "It's home. For those of us cursed to be born here. I don't know what the rest of ya'll are thinkin'." He laughs and shakes his head.

"I'm living in Shreveport, so…"

"Fair enough. So where's Spike?" He asks, not quite innocently.

Peia can hear Jessica gasp in horror from across the room. Peia feels her heart pound, but maintains her cool. She takes a sip of her drink before responding.

"Do you want the long version or the short version?"

"Short."

"We broke up."

"What was the long version?"

"It didn't work out."

"One whole extra word. That's some _detail_."

Peia shrugs. He can tell it is a sensitive subject.

"Sorry to hear that. I really am. You made a cute little couple. And anyone who takes Eric down a few notches, arrogant motherfucker, is ok in my book." He says the last part as if telling a secret with is hand next to his mouth.

Confused, she responds, "Not sure that Spike was in any shape to take anyone down when he was here."

Explaining, casually, "Nah, not the time when he was here with you. _After_ when he came by himself."

Peia's muscles tense and she feels a hot rush to her cheeks.

"He came back? When?" She tries to act casual.

"Few months back. Figured you knew all about it, since you're the reason he came back to kick Eric's Nordic ass."

She takes a hard swallow and a deep breath.

"What happened?" She asks.

Lafayette turns to the bar, "Remember, Sam, when Spike swaggered in here, looking for Eric and Pam? Wearin' that long black coat and being all badass and shit? Mmmm mmm."

Sam frowns, "No. Think I would have remembered something like that."

"Come on. It was epic. You told him he couldn't smoke in here and then he grabbed a bottle of scotch and….You don't remember?"

"I think _someone_ had a dream – the kind of dream that might be best kept to oneself, I reckon."

"Shit, they must have glamoured you or somethin'. It happened. I was there – saw more than I wanted to. Called being in the wrong place at the right time."

"Tell me what happened. Please." Peia says softly.

"Spike came in here looking for information on Eric – his memory was foggy 'bout the whole thing, but he remembered this place for who knows why. He thanked me for the spell that helped him and then bragged about going after Eric – something about payback. Anyway, I think it was Pam who slipped up in the end – seemed to have a soft spot for Spike. Next thing I knew, I'm filming over at the abandoned tobacco factory down on Shute street – took a little corner for a new adult studio – and Spike shows up with Eric tied up in silver."

Sam interrupts, "Didn't that factory burn down? Thought it was a lightening strike."

"It burned down alright, _after_ they ripped it to shreds. Eric must've wanted to destroy the evidence of his humiliation. Too short, IMHO. Anyway, Spike had some fun, you know, the way only vampires and psychopaths can. Got some good rants on. Sexy as _shit_, bein' all chivalrous.

_Flashback in Lafayette's mind. He doesn't give Peia this much detail._

"Nothing personal, mate, but you had to know there'd be a price to pay." Spike, with thick gloves, says, holding a silver coated ball on a chain about the size of a softball with silver spines extruding from its' surface. "Ooh, this one looks fun."

"You had not properly claimed her. Technically, I did nothing wrong." Eric replies.

"You did not properly claim her. Oh my." Spike says in a sing-song mocking voice "Do I look like I give a fuck about 'proper'? Or bloody technicalities?" He tosses the silver ball into Eric's chest.

"If you have a grievance, you can take it up with the Magister." Eric replies, in obvious pain.

"A grievance? You blackmailed my girlfriend into fucking you, then proceeded to try to turn her." He screams, indignant. "In all fairness if you'd done that to anyone else's girlfriend, I'd be all "good on you, mate," but seeing as she was mine, I really have no choice here. Honor and all that."

He walks over to the table with various torture devices and starts sorting through them, hastily.

"You know how this will end. You cannot defeat me – do you even have 200 years?"

"I've never been one to respect my elders. Ask around. Authority isn't really my thing."

He tosses a silver chain mesh onto Eric's head. Eric grunts in pain.

"Don't worry, mate. My plan is not to "defeat" you (he hand quotes). You've got friends in high places and I don't need the headache. Just a little payback, is all."

"I did you a favor."

"How's that? Don't think I heard you right. Let me just get this off…" He takes a long poker and fishes the mesh off of Eric's face, then stabs him in the side with the poker.

"I did you a favor. You're not going to go back to her now, are you?" Eric spits through clenched teeth.

"Fuck off. This isn't for me anyway."

That was when Pam decided to intervene. She had been there for a while before leaping to Eric's aid. On some level, she thought he deserved a little punishment and she knew he was in no real danger. She had remarked to Lafayette,

"Spike makes me question my sexuality."

"Not mine." Lafayette had responded.

"Pam, you know I can hear you, right?" Eric said, offended.

_End flashback_

Lafayette continues, "I got the hell out of there once the fighting started – Spike held his own for the bit I saw, but I figured he couldn't do much against the two of them. That building came down in no time. You seen him since? "

Peia nods.

"Happy to hear that. Woulda been a shame."

He was going to say more, but Peia lifts her glass, downs the last of the scotch, slides off her chair and leaves without saying a word.

Sam offers, "You know Peia works for Eric now. They live together."

"Oh, damn. This may be some shit. I'll be in the kitchen keepin' my mouth shut."

Peia walks around for a while before going to Fangtasia. By the time she gets there, it is around 3am – they closed early for some reason. Seeing Pam near the bar, she walks over.

"I need to talk to Eric."

"I'd wait a bit. He's downstairs with Tatyana, the new dancer. I knew he wouldn't be able to keep his hands off her, lucky bastard." Pam says casually.

"Oh. Uh. Right." Peia is a bit flustered by this, but has no ability to process it.

"You could probably use a break," Pam offers.

"Did Spike come here?" Peia abruptly asks.

"Sure did, honey. You were with him, remember?" Pam responds as though she is talking to a child.

"After that."

"Nope. Not that I know about." She lies without hesitation.

"I didn't think so. Just heard a rumor. Tell Eric I am going to do some writing. I'll meet him back at the house at dawn." Peia says in her most casual tone.

It takes all her mental energy to stop herself from running to the door. Instead, she forces herself to take slow, relaxed steps. As soon as she clears the door, she sets out in a run.

An hour or so later, Tatyana emerges from the basement with a flushed grin. Pam gives her the once over and asks, "Have fun?"

"Yes. It was fantastic." Tatyana responds a bit suspiciously. She leaves.

Eric emerges from the basement looking pensive.

"Is she is as tasty as she looks?" Pam asks, curious about Eric's expression.

"Tasted fine. But nothing else went _as expected_," he confesses.

"OMG, you glamour fucked her. That bad?"

"Couldn't let her talk. I do have a reputation to maintain."

"Maybe its time to go back to redheads," she offers, minimizing.

"Maybe."

"Peia was looking for you. Says she's writing and will meet you at the house at dawn."

"Did you tell her where I was?"

"Sure. Figured its good for her to know."

He frowns in annoyance.

"Did she seem upset?"

"No. Just distracted like she gets when she's writing."

"Does this require another present?"

"For fucking a stripper? Nah. She needs to learn not to fret the small stuff."

Eric nods, but is dubious of Pam's logic. And perhaps a bit disappointed.

Pam adds, "Oh, and she asked about Spike. His _second_ visit."

"How could she know about that? We glamoured all the human witnesses and Sookie was out of town."

"Said she heard a rumor. Didn't seem that bothered when I told her it was wrong."

Pam suddenly feels a bit guilty, because it was her responsibility to glamour Lafayette, but he had left town and she had forgotten to keep an eye out for his return. She will rectify that tomorrow night if she can. Eric would certainly lose his shit if he knew she had left a witness, so she keeps her tone as neutral as possible. She hates it when he is angry with her.

"Ok." Eric responds. He accepts Pam's lack of concern and will try to track down the source of the rumor himself tomorrow.

He returns to the house a while later. It is nearly daylight and he smells only the faint trace of Peia – as if she had been here for a moment, then left again. He picks up his phone and calls her – she hates to be disturbed when she is writing, but he suddenly feels an urgency to be with her and wants to be sure she doesn't stay out past the sun. The phone rings once in his ear. The second ring, he hears in echo, as the phone is somewhere in the house. He walks toward the sound and finds it lying on their bed. He picks it up, eyes wide, a realization dawning on him. He glances around the room for her bag. It's gone. He sees evidences of a frantic departure. He rushes to the door, only to be met with the first rays of sunlight burning his eyes. He tries to find her mentally, but feels nothing.

He turns and lets out a loud, angry shout of frustration while grabbing a lamp and smashing it against the kitchen wall.


	21. Chapter 21

**Chapter 21**

"Before you break what's left of our decor, can I put in a vote for 'calm the fuck down'?"

Upset beyond his expectation, Eric's mind is muddled with panic and fury. Pam takes hold of his arm.

"How do you know she didn't just forget her phone – she gets caught up with that writing shit and loses track of time…"

"She is not here – I cannot feel her anywhere."

"Well, if she's gone it's not exactly rocket science to figure out where. Find Spike and you'll find Peia."

"Unless he doesn't want to be found."

"He won't go back on the deal. He's different than he used to be."

"If she goes to California, she will be in danger. They'll kill her on sight."

"Spike will protect her."

Eric scowls at this. He turns and punches a hole in the wall.

"Jesus, Eric. Nothing will happen until after nightfall, so get some rest and go at sundown."

"But where exactly?"

"I don't know. Go to that town and ask around. Spike has never kept a low profile. I'll make some calls from here."

He nods. As it is summer, the wait for sundown will be long.

"You're good at this sort of thing – its just your brain isn't working. Get some rest and you'll know what to do."

Eric blinks a few times and seems to relax a bit. He pulls Pam into a hug and kisses her forehead.

At daybreak he flies his way to California—to the town that Peia had been living in. He asks around, but hears nothing. He finds most of the vampires he meets to be uncooperative. It feels like looking for a needle in haystack. Sometimes he thinks he feels a glimmer of Peia. She has shut him out before, an ability that frustrates him no end. She is likely doing that now. Hours pass and still nothing. At least he has seen no sign of the local sheriff or King's henchmen, so perhaps she is not in imminent danger. Unless they already have her. He shudders at the thought.

Perhaps by chance, just before sunup, he finds Dali sitting in the back of a demon bar reading a book. He sits next to her. She is able to confirm that Spike is still in town. But she has not seen Peia.

"This means she is taking pains not to be seen. Take comfort in this," Dali offers, seeing Eric's obvious distress.

"Will you help me find her?" Eric asks.

Dali looks down at her book before responding.

"She has not written anything new since she has been with you. Perhaps you do not inspire her."

"Inspiration is of no use to the dead," Eric responds, bristling at the implication.

"She is safer here than you might think. The Slayers keep the King's aggression in check," Dali comments.

"They inspire the King to direct his aggression elsewhere, stoked by frustration. In any case, these Slayers have shown no friendliness toward Peia. She is mine alone to protect."

Dali closes the book and looks up at Eric. "I will give you safe haven in my crypt for the day. Tomorrow, I can find the name of someone who could help."

Eric nods. He is grateful for the ally, but frustrated at having to wait through another long summer day.

As sunset approaches, Eric paces the crypt as he waits for Pam to call him back. He looks down at the piece of paper Dali had given him. The phone rings.

"Do you have an address?" He gruffs into the phone.

"Yes. You're welcome. But what are you going to do? Walk up and ring the doorbell? She's a Slayer. Or an ex-Slayer. Or the freakin' Queen of the Slayers – the intel is a little muddled on that point. But one thing that everyone can agree on is that she is dangerous. Promise me you are _not_ going to ring the doorbell."

Eric's finger pushes a doorbell and he stands in the doorway of a suburban looking home, waiting. A minute later, the door swings open. He is surprised to see a child standing there in her pajamas, alone. She says nothing and they stare at each other for a few seconds.

"Is your mother home?" He asks awkwardly.

The girl giggles and points, "You're a vampire."

Eric frowns. A moment later, a woman approaches. She grabs the girl by the arm, pulling her to the side gently.

"What are you doing up?" She turns and shouts over her shoulder, obviously annoyed, "Xander! Why is Tara up? And answering the door?" A male voice bellows down the stairs, "I'm in the bathroom with Luke – there is a delicate poo situation, which I am expertly handling right now, I'd like to point out."

Buffy rolls her eyes and shakes her head. She turns the little girl toward the stairs and gives her a gentle push.

"Straight up to bed, young lady. And no, you cannot have another glass of water. Or another story. And I know boo boo bear is under your bed, so don't even think about sending me on another wild goose chase."

She then turns back to the doorway and looks at Eric for the first time.

"No," she proclaims before shutting the door in his face.

He is quick to put his foot in the door, stopping it from closing. This pisses her off and she shoves the door even harder in an attempt to crush Eric's foot. It becomes a brief battle of door vs. foot and the force of the struggle breaks off a section of the door all the way up to the doorknob.

"Dammit. Not another one. Xander's going to kill me," Buffy utters to herself.

"Break a lot of doors, do you?" Eric asks.

She glares at him a moment, obviously frustrated by more than just this latest event.

"If you are looking for a fight, I'm retired. And tired. And I'd just rather not deal, so please get lost."

"I was told you might know where to find a vampire named Spike."

"Seriously? What has he done to get so popular lately? Wait, don't tell me."

Eric inhales and his expression changes, "Peia has been here. When?"

"You know Peia?" Buffy responds, surprised.

"She is in danger," Eric states.

"Not from Spike," Buffy answers, a touch defensively.

"No. You have heard of Lamar?" Eric asks.

"The King?" Buffy answers with a subtle sneer.

"Peia has angered those who are loyal to him. She is not safe."

"I do that almost every day and I'm still here," Buffy responds with a hint of pride.

Eric shakes his head dismissively, his concern plain. "But you are not alone."

Buffy nods. "She was here yesterday morning looking for Spike. I told her to check Sharkey's on 3rd St.. Or a boarded up apartment building down near Arroyo."

"Thank you," Eric says sincerely before turning to leave.

She closes what is left of the door.

Eric heads back toward the center of town, stopping a few blocks away to type in the addresses on his phone. As he is standing there, his eyes suddenly take on a far away look and he freezes.

Buffy is sitting on her couch with a big glass of wine, looking spent. She hears the doorbell.

"Xander. Can you get that?" She calls.

"Toxic poo clean-up in progress," he calls back.

She reluctantly goes to the door. Opening it, she finds Eric standing there again.

"Hell to the no," she can't stop herself from exclaiming.

He closes his eyes, as if trying to picture something. "There is a long pier into the water – a wide boardwalk with a few buildings, palm trees, mountains in the background, sand beach on either side. Does this sound familiar to you?"

"Are we playing a game now?" Buffy responds, sounding a mixture of bored and annoyed.

"Please. She showed me. I just need to find it," Eric pleads.

Buffy, surprised by the genuine emotion in his voice, thinks a moment. "Could be the Santa Barbara pier. It's about 30 miles up the coast from here."

Before she is even finished speaking, Eric shoots up into the air.

"No shit," she exclaims in amazement. "A flying vampire? Now I've seen everything."

The night she left, Peia ran all the way from Fangtasia to the townhouse, mentally calculating how far she was likely to get before Eric realized she was gone. If she could make it to daylight, she would have a reasonable chance of getting to California before he could find her. Despite Eric and Pam's relative incompetence with technology, she did not want to risk using a credit card or atm. So she grabbed a handful of cash on her way out the door and planned to hop a Kansas City Southern freight train to Dallas where she would pick up a flight to LA.

It did not take her long to find Spike. Before venturing out in public, she had disguised herself with a wig and uncharacteristic clothes. It was easy to not look like herself. She watched him from the other end of the bar for a while. He looked drunk. And a bit sad, though perhaps she was projecting. His hair was white-blonde and short, his mannerisms slightly different than before. This made it easier. She called the bartender over and waited. Spike pulled out a crumpled up twenty from his pocket and put it on the bar. The bartender handed it back to him and nodded toward Peia.

"She took care of it. Maybe she can give you a ride home."

Spike squinted in her direction, not recognizing her. She slid off the stool and walked toward him, taking the seat just to his left.

"Another scotch, or?" Peia asks, casually.

The sound of her voice was enough to bring him out of his drunken haze and focus on the features of her face, immediately giving away her identity.

"Aw, geez. You can't be here, Jen. I'm too pissed to..." Spike stammers.

"You know that twenty wasn't nearly enough to cover your tab. You've been busy."

"Cheers for that. Kurt's good to me, but getting a bit fed up. Too lazy to find a new bar to belly up to," he flashes a quick smile, but then quickly frowns again. "You shouldn't be here."

"Show me where I should be, then," she answers.

He nods and slides off his stool, nearly falling over before grabbing hold of the bar to steady himself. They leave and she follows him down the road to the little apartment he has been squatting. Once inside, she makes him a strong cup of tea before saying anything of importance. She pulls off the wig and fluffs her hair while he sips the hot liquid. She stands, leaning against the wall, waiting for a sign that he is able to talk. She hopes his lack of sobriety will keep him honest.

"I know about your visit. Tell me what happened," Peia casually demands.

"What did Eric say?" Spike asks.

"Haven't talked to him about it," she responds, honestly.

"Maybe you should."

"Come on, Spike. Don't you think you owe me som…" She doesn't finish, suddenly feeling vulnerable.

"We beat the shit out of each other for a while and then we had a chat. We made a gentlemanly agreement. He said once word got out about you – about your strength, your uniqueness – _everyone_ would be after you. He could protect you better – being all _establishment_ and all. Inevitable, really. He's so bloody strong, ol' codger that he is. I'm good, but I'm not _that_ good. He said if we tried to disappear, you'd likely be resentful and all that because you wouldn't be able to do what you do. And I'm not sure I…." Spike's voice trails off.

Peia takes this in and nods. Looking off to the side, she says, bitterly, "So I didn't get a choice."

"You don't understand…you can't understand, luv, this vampire bullshit," he waves his hand along the side of his head when he says this.

"Why did you go to Shreveport?" She asks.

"Just told you, didn't I?" He frowns in confusion, the alcohol still muddling his thoughts.

"No. You told me what happened when you got there. _Why_ did you go?"

"I don't know, I just did. Revenge, I guess? 'Not so good at thinking things through. He did help me get rid of Gillian. _Finally_. You know what she said? Her bloody justification for the whole thing? She said, "it's hard to meet people" or some such nonsense…"

_[What she actually said to Eric: "You know how hard it is to find a good vampire boyfriend these days? They're all off with humans, lazy sons-of-bitches. And then there was Spike – legendary boyfriend extraordinaire – barely alive after some big demon battle. Did you ever see him with Drusilla? And even with that human he was obsessed with. I just wanted that for myself, so I rescued him. All's fair in love and war, right?"]_

"Okay," Peia says as she turns toward the door.

"You're leaving? You don't have to," Spike offers. "Maybe we could…"

Peia cuts him off, "Yeah, I do."

Spike nods. She grabs her coat and bag and walks slowly toward the door. She can see a glimmer of daylight through a crack in the window.

"Tell me he's good to you. Tell me, or…." Spike's voice cracks.

Peia turns back to him. She nods her head quickly, then adds, "I don't know what I'm doing. It's like I am in someone else's story and I'm just playing like I belong there." She wants to say more – she wants to talk to her best friend again.

Spike takes this in, his brain still thankfully fuzzy with alcohol. He frowns before responding, "So make it your story. You're a writer, you can do that. _Make_ it yours."

Peia smiles briefly through wet eyes. As she opens the door, Spike is forced to take a step back to avoid the rays of sun streaking through.

She fishes for something in her pocket and turns back to Spike.

"Truth is, Spike, from what I've read, you _are_ that good," she says with a twinge of bitterness. She holds up the ring he gave her so many months ago and tosses it in the air toward him.

He reflexively reaches for it, putting his hand into the sun for an instant, causing a brief flame to rise up from his hand, which he shakes off once the ring is caught. He acknowledges the sting of her words with a nod and then she is gone.

Eric arrives in Santa Barbara and heads straight for the beach. Peia is letting him feel her now, showing him how to find her. She is floating offshore on her back, just beyond the surf. She hears Eric's voice call her name, muffled by the filter of water. She closes her eyes and stands up. Is that fog, or something else? He looks blurry. It has been nearly 48 hours since she last slept.

He watches as she emerges from the water. She is in her underwear, her eyes rimmed in red, her lips nearing a pale blue. She looks awful, but he has never been more pleased to see her.

She walks past him toward her bag. Before she reaches it, she stops and turns back toward him.

He is the first to speak.

"You are cold. Let me bring you a blanket."

"No!" She reflexively shouts. She steps forward and shoves him. "I _like_ being cold. In fact, I love it. You know what I hate? Being hot. That (she points toward the water) is what the ocean should feel like. Fucking cold. Not the warm piss of the rivers, fake lakes and shore of Louisiana. I hate sweating all the time. I hate feeling like I am living in a sweaty armpit." She shoves him again. It is annoyingly ineffective.

"You should have come to me first," Eric responds, seeing this as the deflection it is.

"I tried. But you were busy fucking someone else."

"Did that upset you?"

"No. Yes. Maybe. God, you are so clueless. I mean, it's fine that you were with someone, but I wanted to talk do you…and…So is that what this is now? We're free to do what we like? We're _already_ there?"

It takes him a minute to interpret her train of thought.

"Pam seemed to think a stripper was acceptable for such needs." He quickly adds, "I bought you that battle axe you wanted – one like the movie."

"What does that have to do with…? So you _needed_ to fuck someone else."

"I was hungry. And she was up to my standard." This is not entirely true. He is not quite sure what drove him to seek the company of the stripper, other than habit.

"I don't care who you _bite_."

"Interesting. Bill seems to think this is what concerns humans…"

"Don't ever let me hear you take relationship advice from Bill."

"But you _do_ care who I have sex with?" He is honestly trying to understand.

"Do _you_ care? I mean, am I free to do what I like? So, for example, if I just spent the last 24 hours fornicating with Spike, that would be okay with you?"

A volcano of fury explodes in Eric's mind at the thought of this, beyond anything he has experienced before. His throat tightens up.

"Did you?" He practically chokes on the words.

Seeing his expression, she feels suddenly guilty.

"No. So you care."

He nods, surprised.

"Honestly, Eric, I don't care all that much. But can it just not be someone I have to see? Can it not be an employee of the club? Shreveport is a big place and I imagine you could find someone who is "up to your standard", say, outside a 2 mile radius of Fangtasia."

"You did see Spike?" He asks, hopeful that perhaps she had not been able to find him either.

She nods. "I gave him his ring back."

"His ring?"

She can feel the anger and sadness building in her once again. "Yeah, you know the one he gave me to promise that he would be with me. For as long as I wanted. Because that's what people do when they are in love." She shouts the last sentence.

"You had kept it this whole time?" Eric asks, baffled.

"You don't just stop loving someone when they tell you they don't want to be with you anymore. That's not how it works."

"How does it work?"

"Fuck if I know."

"So what did he tell you?" Eric asks, curious how well Spike kept to his word.

"Everything I needed to know," she answers with bitterness.

"What does that mean? You should have waited to talk to me."

"I saved you from having to lie to me. Because you would have, wouldn't you? What would you have said if I'd asked about Spike's visit?" She looks him hard in the eyes.

After a moment, he responds, "I would have said it was just a rumor and I then I would have silenced anyone who said otherwise."

She nods, vindicated.

"The truth has only caused you pain. What purpose would it serve?"

"You don't get it. This is my life," she shouts.

"So what did he say?"

"He said you made a gentlemen's agreement. He said it was for the best."

"So why does this make you so angry?"

"Because this wasn't about what is best for me. You told him what you knew he needed to hear to make the decision you wanted him to make. This is about you playing a game and needing to win it. Because that's all you know how to do. And I can't even hate you for it, because I honestly don't think you know the difference. So congratulations! You win."

Eric responds, raising his voice, "Why do you keep insisting this means nothing to me? You say I don't know the difference, so _teach me_."

She wasn't expecting this display of emotion from him and it throws her for a moment. She quickly shakes it off.

"It doesn't matter," she responds quietly, the tears starting to flow.

"If it does not matter, why are you here now? If you are sure of my manipulation, why are you not with Spike? Why did you call for me?"

"I…I wanted to hear what you had to say. Or maybe I just needed to shout at you," she lies, unconvincing.

"No. It's because you saw in Spike what I saw," Eric responds.

"You forced him to make a choice he wasn't ready to make," she argues.

"I made his choice easier to stomach. You know this. I saved you both unnecessary pain."

She looks away from him. Her anger dissolves into sadness, her shoulders drop as hot tears begin to streak down her face. "He didn't fight, did he? Not really. He wanted to be convinced."

Moved by her sadness, he attempts to comfort her. "He did fight. He demonstrated tremendous passion. It was hardly easy. He spoke as someone who cared very much for your wellbeing." He pauses a moment, then quickly adds, "he refused to take any money or property."

Peia scrunches up her face in confusion.

"Stop doing that. A minute ago you were jealous and now you're paternal – what is this? Are you my lover or my father?"

"I only wish to lessen your pain."

"You have no idea how much it hurts. Believe me, I wish you could feel as badly as I do right now."

"Let me share it," he asks, moving his hand to touch the skin of her neck.

She bats his hand away, "No. I need to feel it all. You asked how this works. Well, I think this is it."

She doubles over slightly, her head pointed toward the sand at her feat, her hands on her thighs. She takes a few deep breaths and then pulls her shoulders back and stands up straight.

"Wait, you offered him money? You were trying to _purchase_ me? Holy fuck, that's insanely inappropriate." She pauses a moment before continuing, working to transfer the pain to anger. "It's your fault. You ruined everything. I was happy. I got a second chance to be happy and you took it away. You don't get to decide what is best for me. It's _my_ life."

She takes a step towards him, but then stops herself.

"Hit me if you like," he offers.

This infuriates her even more.

"Don't tell me what I can do," she spits. In frustration, she reaches down, grabs two handfuls of sand and throws them in his face. "You incapable of understanding. It's been too long. There is no part of you left that is human, no part of you that can remember how to _feel_. So what's the point of hating you?"

Eric grabs her by the shoulders. "I did nothing to change what was inevitable. I would happily take the blame to ease your sadness, but you are not a fool. You already know the truth."

She swipes away his arms, steps back and then lunges forward again to push him in the chest. She steps away and then stares at him, tears streaming down her cheeks.

"Say it. It has to be said and I can't."

Eric complies. "The man who loved you - the man you loved - no longer exists. He was an apparition created by false memories and he is gone now. No amount of anger, blame and hate can change that simple fact."

"Yeah, well, fuck you," she whimpers without meaning, her voice soft.

"Take comfort in knowing it had nothing to do with your attributes. It was bad luck," Eric says, again trying to make her feel better.

"Bad luck?" She responds indignantly. "Bad luck is stepping on a nail on your way to a race or getting caught behind a school bus when you are late for work or when the best looking human in the club happens to have Hep C. Falling in love with a vampire whose memories have been altered by a crazy, lonely vampwitch and then getting dumped after giving all you have to get away from the crazy bitch and restore his memories….is a fucking cosmic joke. Or the plot to a really bad B movie."

She crosses her arms and starts to visibly shiver. Eric pulls his shirt off and hands it to her. She looks at him, too stiff and cold to unfold her arms. He cautiously takes a step towards her and pulls the shirt over her head.

"Your hair smells of earth," he observes, pausing a moment before stepping back.

"Don't get excited, its just henna – hair dye."

After a few moments, her shivering becomes more muted. She unfolds her arms and slips them into the sleeves of Eric's shirt.

"I hate that everything was orchestrated. Like I didn't have a choice," Peia states plainly and without anger.

"It was not entirely so. You came to me that night, remember?" Eric responds.

"And if I hadn't?" She asks.

"I would have waited – vampires have the luxury of playing the long game. Up to a point."

"And then?"

"Then I would have knocked you over the head with a club and dragged you back to my cave. Because that's what _I_ do, apparently," he responds with a wry smile.

A strange expression crosses Peia's face and her eyes start darting around. "As a brief aside, I should tell you that a couple of hours ago, I took a drug called Dirt. The hallucinations were starting to freak me out, so I went in the water to cool my body and slow everything down. But now that I'm warming up…"

"What do you see?" Eric asks, concerned.

She shakes her head dismissively. "Don't change the subject. I'm still mad. This isn't over."

"So what happens now?" Eric asks.

Looking past Eric toward the beach, Peia squints her eyes. "Hey, what's that boy doing on the beach at this hour?" She turns away from Eric. "Hey! Hey, kid. It's dangerous to be out at night. There's people like _him_ about. Oy!"

Peia turns back to Eric, who is frowning. "A little blond boy, looks to be only 7 or 8 – he can't go in the water at night. It's too cold. He could drown." After a brief pause, she says, "you don't see him, do you?"

"No. There is no boy," Eric responds.

She shrugs and continues to watch the boy in her hallucination, bemused. It appears to be daytime where the boy is.

"It's a stone beach now, the sand is gone. The boy is at the water's edge, feeling it with his toes. Gosh, he's wirey. Looks like he's wearing leather shorts – stylish! Oh, and here comes a dog. Aw, they're playing." She can't help but smile, there is such joy in the interaction between the boy and his dog.

"A dog?" Eric asks.

"I know that breed. My neighbors had one growing up – a Norwegian Elkhound. Such nice dogs – we used to stuff pillows with all the fur she'd shed in the summer."

"Norsk Elghund?" Eric repeats in his native tongue. There is something familiar…

"What's happening now?" He asks, intrigued.

"The boy is in the water, but the dog is having none of it. She's barking from the shore. She seems upset that he's gone in. Oh, and now there is a woman. She's shouting at the boy. I don't think he was meant to be off on his own. She's hopping mad," Peia describes, amused.

"What language are they speaking?"

"Not English, but its plain to see she's mad. He's coming out of the water now. He's running toward us," Peia continues to narrate.

Peia wonders what will happen when the boy reaches them. The last time she took Dirt, none of the hallucinations were this vivid. The detail is incredible. She had read that if you survived the first dose, subsequent highs were more intense.

As they approach, the boy and the dog devolve into wisps of vapor flying through the air. She watches as they fly straight for Eric and disappear into his head. He does not react. She stares at him a moment, reflecting on the meaning of what she's just seen.

"The boy is you. Do you remember?" She asks.

Eric looks mildly disoriented. He frowns, trying to think of something. After a moment he says, "Fricka. The dog's name was Fricka." He believes that there is no way he would have remembered that on his own, across a thousand years. In seeing his memory, Peia has invoked it somehow. He looks at her in amazement.

Peia looks at him, her head tilting slightly, appraising. She takes a step forward and touches his face gently.

"Well, Eric Northman. You were a boy once. How about that."

She abruptly turns and follows the movement of something else…

Tbc…


	22. Chapter 22

**Chapter 22**

Eric lies with his eyes closed on a hotel bed, dried blood streaking his face. The doorknob of the bathroom clicks and turns, the door quietly pushed open from the inside. Peia emerges, scanning the room with tired eyes. She tries to remember where she is and how she got there.

They were on the beach when the hallucinations started back in earnest. At first, she could observe them as if watching a film – leisurely taking in the details. But quickly they overwhelmed, blurring the distinction with reality. Growing concerned, Eric had carried her from the beach. In bursts and starts, she was able to insist he find the car she had been driving — in it were a few boxes of things she had collected from her old apartment and some new clothes from Daisy.

Eric drove the car to a vampire-friendly hotel in town. Once inside the room, he had been distressed when she dove straight into the bathroom and locked the door. Of course he could break through, but his instincts told him she needed the isolation. In truth, she was perhaps irrationally hoping that the confined space would limit the visions somehow, if only in scope.

Peia sees Eric on the bed, noting his lack of reaction to the door opening. She looks at the clock on the nightstand – 3pm. He must be asleep. She looks for her bag, hoping he found it on the beach and brought it. A sigh of relief escapes as she sees it sitting on the floor by the television. She walks over, rummages for a bag of nuts she had stashed yesterday and tosses a few in her mouth. It has been 24 hours or more since she had eaten. This would not be enough, but could help with the low blood sugar fogginess. She walks over to the bed, taking her time before letting her eyes settle on his face. It is always striking to her how _dead_ he appears when he is resting on his back. She notes the dried blood and wonders how long into the day he stayed awake.

After a moment, she walks over to the sink, takes a washcloth and runs the water until it is warm. Returning, she sits on the edge of the bed and starts to dab at the blood that had pooled in his ear, next a dot under his nose and then on to the other ear. It takes almost ten minutes for him to stir. When he opens his eyes, she is just sitting with the damp cloth in her hand, pink with blood, watching him.

"It is finished now?" He says, barely as a question.

She nods. "You stayed awake too long. Why?"

"Memories. What you saw, I remembered. I do not understand why. I took no drug," he answers, still groggy.

"We are connected, as you are so fond of bringing up when it suits you," Peia responds.

"It was _unexpected_ to be reminded of such things."

"Unexpected is one way to describe it. Your mom was beautiful, by the way. Stunning in a way I didn't think possible back then. Explains a lot. And it looks like I picked the right hair color," she adds with a touch of humor (the henna had turned her hair a deep auburn red).

"You look at me differently now," he frowns.

"How could I not? It was a jumbled mess, but I pretty much saw your entire human life."

"And yet I am not human and have no aspirations to act so."

"But the memories make the man. Perhaps I simply see you more clearly now."

"Perhaps. Remember, I have _many_ more memories," he adds pointedly, defensive at the idea that anyone could believe to know him fully.

"Did you ever tell your dad about the dog?" She asks, genuine curiosity in her voice.

"No. But I think he knew. Another cause for disappointment."

"I'm sorry about what happened to them."

He nods, not quite sure what to do with her sympathy.

"That has been put to rest. I have exacted revenge on their behalf," he responds with a morose pride.

"Then I envy you. I have nothing but fate to despise."

Changing the subject, Eric asks abruptly, "so does this mean your tantrum is over?"

"It _was_. Until you called it a tantrum."

"I ask only to find out if you are able to speak rationally now."

Of course it _was_ a tantrum on some level and she knows it. Still, for Eric to point that out seems belittling. Luckily, she has no energy for anger. She sighs and tosses the washcloth onto the bedside table before nodding.

After a pause, Eric looks up at the ceiling and begins to speak. "Last night, you said you were confused by my attitude – at once both paternal and carnal. This is not unusual for vampires and their offspring. However, I must concede that our relationship is unique, as you remain human, and as such, confusion in these matters is likely. Clarification will sometimes be necessary and I will do my best to make my expectations clear."

It took hours after the memories had stopped invading his mind before Eric was able to fall asleep. A combination of exhilaration inspired by the human life he had nearly forgotten and an unfamiliar obsession with interpreting his own feelings toward the woman who had elicited such things. By organizing his thoughts around the details of their argument last night, he seeks to regain control over any lurking emotions.

He continues in a slightly awkward tone, "Speaking of, I will make an effort to limit sexual activities with women in my employ if that is what you wish. And although I am unwilling to leave my position in Shreveport, despite your distaste for the place, I promise to take you somewhere cold for a holiday. There is a vampire retreat in Iceland that I think you would enjoy…"

It is unclear if he was going to say more, but Peia interrupts him.

"Listen to you, _negotiating_," she says with a bemused smirk. "I _am_ coming back with you, Eric," said as if it were a foregone conclusion. Peia pulls her shirt over her head and quickly climbs on top of him, resting her bare chest on his, skin to skin. As always, the contact relaxes them both in tingly comfort. This time, she refuses to let her brain question the distinction between the physical and the emotional and lets the warmth seep in.

Wrapping his arms loosely around her, he whispers, "Because you want to or because you have nowhere else to go?" As soon as the words have left his mouth, he regrets asking.

"Both," she responds, honestly.

Eric inhales and closes his eyes. "I find the smell of salt and earth extraordinarily arousing."

"Really?" She asks in disbelief, feeling no sign of it.

"After more rest. Don't shower," he commands, sleepily.

"You know, I totally rock a fur hat."

"I shall buy you a closet full of them."

"Did you really get me that battle axe?"

"Of course. I would never lie about an axe."

"Will you show me how to use it when we get back?"

"I believe it is fairly self-explanatory."

"Fair enough," she responds, giggling.

They lay there a while, fading in and out of sleep. As sundown approaches, Eric begins to stir. He is hungry, as is she by the sounds coming from her. He lifts his head enough to smell Peia's hair before pulling her up from his chest and resting her on the pillow next to him. As her eyes flutter open, he kisses her, relishing the taste of salt on her lips. As the sleep leaves her, she responds in kind to his passion, kissing him deeply. He puts his hands to the sides of her head and abruptly breaks off the kiss, looking at her with wild eyes.

"I want you to bite me," he insists.

"What?" She asks, breathless and disbelieving.

He kisses her again, then pulls back.

"Please."

"But my teeth are blunt. It'll hurt," she responds with genuine concern.

"Never worry about hurting me," he responds, kissing her again.

"Ok," she agrees.

He shows her where and instructs, "Bite down hard enough to draw blood. Do not release your teeth or the wound will close. Drink."

Nervously, she leans forward toward his neck – it is such a foreign idea, biting, but she wants to please him. She opens her mouth, finds his skin and bites down with force. Immediately, her mind starts to spin as his blood flows into her mouth. He grunts with pleasure and pulls her body back on top of him, spreading her legs and entering her. His fangs drop and he pierces her neck, sucking hard at the wound, which is compelled to heal by the magic of his own blood. They remain connected like this for long enough for them to lose track of the start or end of their own bodies, their thoughts wiped clean by the swirl of blood, the sublime pleasure of their complete embrace….

And then they f*cked like rabbits

_[Author's note: I promise that upcoming chapters will have less talk and more plot! Just sayin'.]_


	23. Chapter 23

**Chapter 23**

It was not entirely clear to either Eric or Peia whether the change in intensity of their connection was due to the shared memories or the shared blood. Although the thought was never fully articulated, Eric's unease about his feelings contributed to his wish to share blood again, knowing the effect it would have on Peia. He was desperate to bind her to him, threatened by her growing independence, the fear of loss having grown to an unanticipated intensity. It may have been unfair, he reasoned, but it was not the _only_ cause for his request that night.

Peia, for her part, was complicit, happy to enjoy break from the pain. But she also was experiencing a new excitement in the dynamic between them – a new interest in knowing Eric in the context of his history. Before, he was just Eric – the vampire, the gangster, the protector – fully formed with his quirks, desires, egoism and beauty. Somehow, contemplating his history, his _life_, added a certain depth and wisdom to his actions that she had not appreciated before.

Upon returning to Shreveport, Peia found herself asking more questions of his past, of his homeland, of his life beyond what she had "seen". Sprinkled in their daily interactions, Eric was usually happy to indulge her curiosity. She became particularly fascinated by his tales of battle and the intricacies involved in being a leader of men. A story idea had sprung up and she needed fuel to push it along its course. Remembering what Dali had said, Eric was pleased to learn that she was writing something new.

It took quite some time before they were able to get away for the holiday Eric had promised her. There had been a gradual upswing in violence against humans for which vampires were being blamed. Bill had put it on Eric to keep the peace as well as investigate (and punish) the perpetrators, a task that required a frustrating amount of time and manpower. The AVL was desperate to improve human-vampire relations and were panicking over the increase in violence, threatening to replace Bill if he did not succeed in getting the situation under control. So Bill nagged Eric and Eric put everyone to work.

Peia was put in charge of prevention (of human deaths or injuries), while Eric and Pam busied themselves with investigation. She did not mind this new responsibility. It was an excuse to train and hone her fighting skills, a step up from what was needed to throw drunk or disorderly patrons out of the club. Many hours were spent working with her new battle-axe, which she took to calling "Miss Parker". She shortened the handle, shaved the wood for better balance and added a point so both ends could be equally deadly. Peia enjoyed practicing fluidity of movement with her new weapon, something she had worked on with Zeb back in California using wooden swords and staffs. It made her feel powerful, in control. At her request, Eric instructed her on the use of the various weapons he had in his little arsenal. Though useful for her new responsibilities, none sparked her interest quite so much as Miss Parker, which she kept close whenever there was the slightest hint of danger. Although Eric chided her for her more "chiseled" physique, he was honestly comforted knowing she could adequately protect herself. And since it did not interfere with his desire for her, he kept his comments light-hearted.

Pam had been rather envious of the new clothes Peia had brought back from Daisy—she deemed them sufficiently badass in a less aggressively gender-neutral way than before. In the time since Peia had disappeared, Daisy busied herself in her spare time designing and perfecting new outfits for her personal "super hero", should she ever return. She found it relaxing in a way only a seamstress would – a challenge rarely given to the maker of clothes. When Peia had appeared in her shop, Daisy was so ecstatic to show her what she had come up with that she had not noticed how dreadful Peia looked – she had come straight there after leaving Spike, needing the comfort of a familiar face. It was only when Peia began trying things on that Daisy had commented in an accusatory (and annoyed) voice, "You've lost weight," and then for the first time looked up and really saw her face. She had gasped and immediately gone to fetch a cup of tea. In the end, they went through the pile without saying more than was necessary, a relief to them both. The lines were sleeker, the fabric more breathable, the fit tighter and all equipped with various secret pockets for storing small silver chains – something Peia had mentioned the last time. But all looked passible as street clothes – just enough fashion to keep from standing out. Peia had given her all the cash she had left, along with a hug and a promise to send the rest when she could.

Eventually, Peia and Eric had found an appropriate time to leave town for a few days. Peia was unreasonably excited to shop for cold weather clothes. They were off to Iceland, to a vampire resort called Skyli. At this time of year in Iceland, the sun shone nearly 24 hours a day and so somewhere back in the mists of time, local vampires had taken it upon themselves to create a summer refuge to pass the days before the nights returned. It had become more and more elaborate as the centuries passed, turning into an indoor playground of sorts, complete with all manner of activities to defeat the boredom.

As Peia waits for Eric to bring the car around, Pam walks up to her carrying a hat box.

"Don't forget your hat." Pam said.

"Thanks. Good luck holding down the fort. Sorry you can't come," Peia responded, anticipating the chaos without Eric around.

Pam shrugs, crossing her arms. "Be sure to bring me back something expensive. He knows what I like."

"Sure thing."

They see the car pull in front of the door.

"By the way, you'll probably meet Brynja, Eric's ex. I'll be curious to hear how that goes," Pam says ambiguously.

"What? He has an ex?" Peia responds, surprised.

"It was before my time, but I hear she broke him down pretty bad. Turned him off vampires completely. Have fun now," Pam says playfully as she gently pushes Peia out the door.

"And you're just telling me this now?! Why will she be there? Wha…" Peia blurts, obviously freaked by this news, but it's too late.

Peia spent the entire plane trip obsessing over what an ex-girlfriend of Eric's would be like. _"Tall, probably very tall. And blonde. Like a cross between Brigitte Nielsen and Charlize Theron. Oh crap."_ Imagine Peia's surprise when Bryn turned out to look a bit like Bjork. Petite with black hair and pixie features. It was an interesting trip. At one point, Peia had to fight for her life while wearing a bikini. An experience that affirmed her belief in the general implausibility of skimpy outfits for heroines as depicted in film and comic books. And then there were the blood pools. Still, overall, it was a good trip.

_Author's note: I'd love to describe the details of the trip, but as it doesn't really move the plot forward, I'm going to keep it at that for now. _

"Do we have tables for tomorrow?" Peia asks Eric as she climbs into bed next to him.

"Everything is taken care of. Stop being so tense," Eric responds, uncomfortable with her unfamiliar state of emotion.

"It shouldn't be too disruptive. I can't imagine it being crowded. My friends will come. But..."

Eric lets out a loud sigh, thinking about forgetting the sex and going straight for her neck to drain the nervous energy out of her. But anxiety makes blood taste sour, so perhaps an orgasm would work better. She had been this way all week and it was beginning to drive him crazy.

It all began a couple of months ago. Peia had received a letter from a publisher interested in the vampire niche market. He had heard about her online success and proposed making a print copy of her latest work, marketed directly to the target audience. His research into vampire reading habits had indicated that many, if not most, prefer to read paper. In recent years, most publishing houses had switched entirely to digital, leaving few options for the vampire luddite crowd. Mr. Andrews believed there was money to be made and was able to secure enough funding from investors to launch an experimental trial. He chose a few authors through word-of-mouth, offered them a percentage of the sales along with a small signing bonus and staged book signings in locations (and at times) amenable to vampires. Peia had skeptically agreed to be the guinea pig, the first of the authors to emerge for a vampire-targeted ad campaign and Eric had agreed to provide the venue – Fangtasia. Mr. Andrews had done an initial print of 500 copies, available initially only to signing attendees (a hefty discount if they fill out a survey).

The attention and the pressure made Peia nervous. Her feelings were a mixture of flattery and dread. She just wanted to get it over with and move on. Mr. Andrews had been putting up flyers for weeks and there had been an online advertising campaign as well. Everyone seemed a bit anxious about it, particularly Mr. Andrews who despite his targeted niche, had never actually spent any time around vampires and now found himself disconcertingly jumpy in their company. Eric was nervous exposing Peia to so many, concerned that her 'hybrid' status might become more generally known. Still, somehow Peia and Pam had convinced him that all would be well — that to outward appearances, Peia seemed to be human and so there was little risk. Assuming, of course, that Peia didn't have reason to start kicking ass, showing her strength. She had left Miss Parker in the basement and promised to be on her best (human) behavior.

The night of the signing arrived. Eric had kept the club open, reserving only section in the front for the tables holding the books and a small display from the publisher. Peia got herself a drink and sat down at the chair provided, pen in hand. The doors were to open at 10pm and it was now 9:55. Mr. Andrews was pacing nervously, fiddling with the display. Eric took his usual chair, moved slightly forward in case he needed to reach Peia quickly. Pam burst through the door with an off-putting grin on her face.

"We're going to make some cash tonight. They're lined up around the block," she announced, excitedly.

Mr. Andrews let out a relieved sigh, "oh, thank god," as he wiped the sweat from his brow with a handkerchief. He glanced up at Eric, who gave the nod to open the doors.

A steady stream of vampires, nearly all female, came in, picked up a copy of the book and walked to the table for Peia to sign, as if this was the most normal thing in the world. Judging by their clothes, there were more old than young, but a good mixture. There was a nervous excitement in the room, tempered somewhat when the music began thumping in the background. Eric quickly called Pam over and told her to send someone out to entice more humans to the club – it was going to be rather unbalanced otherwise. The flow of bodies continued steadily. Peia was fascinated to meet the gaze of so many vampires. Some expressed surprise that she was human, some disappointment, others an unnerving hunger. At one point, Eric strolled over and pointedly touched Peia in a way as to express ownership, an act that would normally irritate, but was now welcome. Peia was relieved to see familiar faces in the line – Jessica and Sookie had come to show support. Funny that she had half expected that they would be the only ones to come at all.

About an hour into the signing, when the line seemed to grow more relaxed and social, a vampire approached Peia's table and brought with her a wispy chill. Peia wondered if this was how Eric was able to spot the "old ones" as he called them. She was small, her skin a light brown, her eyes small and angled like a Siamese cat. Her hair was short and thick, the kind that would be tightly curled if allowed to grow. She stood there a moment, staring at Peia with a feverish curiosity. For a moment, Peia felt her will leave her – she felt a desire to be commanded. Quicker than the eye can see, the vampire snaps her hand forward and back, quickly licking the tip of her finger, a small scratch suddenly appearing on Peia's cheek. As if swatting mosquito, Peia reflexively brings her hand to her face, wiping the tiny droplet of blood away. The vampire's eyes widen and her head jerks to the side, spying Eric across the room.

Confused about what is happening, Mr. Andrews interjects, "would you like to purchase a book, ma'am?"

She looks over at him with a smirk, reaches into her pocket and places a gold coin in front of the small metal cash box before turning and vamp-zooming away.

"What am I supposed to do with this?" Mr. Andrews says exasperated, holding the coin in his hand.

"It's a gold coin – use your imagination!" Peia snarks.

Eric looks up to find the old vampire standing in front of him, her head tilted, appraising him. Although not conventionally beautiful, she is mesmerizing and he has trouble forming a thought. She reaches forward, scratching him as she did Peia, only this time she leans toward him and licks the blood from his face. He jerks back, taken by surprise. She smiles a Cheshire smile and laughs.

"What is it that you want?" Is all Eric can think to say.

"We share blood. We are family, you and I."

"Impossible. I do not know you," Eric responds.

"How handsome you are. I can see why he chose you," she grins.

"Who are you?" He asks, eyes growing wide.

She moves closer. "You know me, as you must. I am the source of your blood." She straddles him and puts her face inches from his. "You know me as you know him, as my blood flowed through him into you."

Eric touches her face and his eyes close. "You are Godric's Maker."

"I am Mina. Did he not speak of me?" She asks with a cruel laugh, knowing the answer.

She climbs into his lap like a child, the difference in their sizes ridiculous. He cannot keep his hands from touching the coolness of her skin, the touch bringing tingles of memory, a painful ecstasy.

"How do we share blood with her? She is still human," she purrs, turning to watch Peia.

At that moment, Peia glances toward Eric and seeing him entwined with Mina causes her to stand up abruptly, a jealous fury rising. Eric silently communicates calmness and after a moment she sits back down. Seeing this, Mina's eyes widen with excitement and she claps her hands together.

_They shall be of use to me._

"Please do not take her from me," Eric hears himself whisper, knowing that a vampire as old as she can do anything she wants without fear.

"You may keep your pet. I take only what I need. We will share a bed tonight, the three of us. Then we will see." Mina commands.


	24. Chapter 24

**Chapter 24**

_**Warning: sexual situations, adult themes, blood play (if they weren't necessary for the plot, I'd have edited it down).**_

Later that night, once the signing had ended and Mr. Andrews had packed up the display and collated the surveys, Eric pulled Peia aside and explained the situation.

"So she is the Maker of your Maker," Peia said, trying to process the significance.

"Yes. She wishes to spend the day with us, beginning now," he adds, carefully.

"Do you trust her?"

"I have no reason to. Godric mentioned her infrequently and with a lack of reverence."

"Then why…?"

"She shares our blood. It would be disrespectful to deny her."

"And, she could easily kick your ass because she is older than dirt."

"There is that. Or worse."

"When she spoke to me, I felt powerless. Is there something unusual about her?"

Eric shrugs. "I believe Godric said she was a mystic, a healer for her tribe when she was human."

"Like a witch doctor?"

"Perhaps. She is also the oldest vampire I have ever encountered. The potential power of this is unknown to me."

"Sounds like the perfect situation to drop all defenses and climb into bed. Lets get naked!" She responds with mock enthusiasm.

However, once they were all in the same room, a sultry calmness descends. Peia is quickly enthralled by the petite black woman; filled with a deep longing to be consumed. In a calm flurry of hands and fabric, they all undress.

Mina produces a small vial of something, handing it to Peia. "Drink this, my child."

Eric frowns slightly toward Mina, concerned.

"An old trick to enhance the experience when millennia have drained it of its novelty," Mina offers. "It will do her no lasting harm."

Peia drinks, unable to resist the command. The three bodies move together, skin on skin. After a moment, Peia's eyes flicker and she goes limp.

"Now we drink," Mina softly commands, her fangs descending.

Eric follows her lead and they both bite into Peia's neck. After drinking for just a moment, Eric pulls away with a shock, blinking strongly. Mina smirks knowingly and quickly lifts Peia and places her unconscious body on the bed. She turns back to Eric, watching his continued reaction to the drug-tinged blood.

The tantalizing promise of ecstasy engulfs his body. It feels as if something has burned off the scars of the past, unleashing the full force of sensation a body is capable of experiencing. His eyes fix on Mina and they lunge at each other. The next hours are filled with the kind of violent, animal, selfishly hedonistic sex that only other-wordly creatures are capable of (and capable of enjoying). When they are finished, the walls drip with sprays of blood, the floors and ceiling are dented, the furniture visibly abused. They crawl back onto the bed next to Peia's still limp body. Eric, barely awake, murmurs, "what did you give her?"

"Dolphin blood. The most powerful vampire aphrodisiac known. Plus a little something I add to make it pop."

"I will have to remember that."

"Not to be taken lightly – you would have killed her if I were not here to match you."

"She is not like other humans."

"What do you say we call up a couple of men and watch them fuck her. It amuses me to watch humans fornicate – it is so very slow and awkward. Like tortoises."

Trying to downplay his reaction, Eric says casually, "She is unconscious – better to find a girl who would scream."

Mina frowns slightly, "I can rouse her easily."

"Such a spectacle does not interest me. Perhaps the men can fuck each other and then double as a midnight snack?"

Mina rolls her eyes and with a quick sigh, she utters a foreign word and passes her hand over Eric's face. He immediately falls asleep. She utters under her breath, "easier this way anyway."

She closes her eyes as if to concentrate and a few moments later, there is a knock at the door. She leads two human men into the room. She studies them a moment and then speaks to them in a deep and commandingly steady voice.

Indicating Peia, she tells them, "you will both have sex with this woman. Be sure you come into her cunt. Twice each should do."

Both begin to undress, but one of them hesitates, saying meekly "but she's not awake."

Mina glances downward to the man's pants and then sighs.

"Awake," she commands over Peia. As she begins to stir, Mina takes her chin in her hand and looks her directly in the eye. "These men are going to fuck you now. Help them get started."

And with that, Peia sits up sleepily and reaches for the belt of the first man, unbuckling it, pulling down his pants and taking his limp cock in her mouth. The other man quickly finishes pulling off his pants and moves in behind her, lifting her back end onto her knees. She obliges by moving her legs slightly apart as the man awkwardly inserts himself and starts thrusting.

Mina sits back, looking bored, reaching for a magazine amidst the grunts and slaps and sucking noises.

Sometime later, she hears the guttural grunt accompanying the final thrusting slap and closes the magazine, tossing it back on the bed stand. She gestures for the men to stand in front of her.

Gesturing to the one on the left, she says "You, get dressed and go. You stay a moment." They do as they are told. When the one has left, she quickly tears into the other's throat, opening up an artery. She takes a drink, but then collects some blood into a bowl. She tosses the body off the bed. Then, sitting up, she cups her hand between her own legs, collecting the fluid that drips down. She submerges her hand in the bowl of blood. She then commands Peia to sit up and collects the semen in the same way, submerging it all in the bowl. She gestures for Peia to lie down, quickly putting her back to sleep. Holding her hand over Peia's lower abdomen, Mina frowns briefly. She bites into her own wrist and drips some blood onto Peia's skin, spreading it evenly over the area between the belly button and pubic hair. She then scoops up the blood mixture from the bowl and pours it onto Peia's abdomen in a particular pattern while chanting some unknown words. She does the same to Eric. When all of the blood is gone from the bowl, Mina closes her eyes and chants more strongly – as she does, the blood mixture disappears from Peia and Eric's skin. She takes a deep breath and then just shrugs casually.

Mina gets up, gets dressed and disappears. They do not hear from her again and remember little from the experience.

The next night is spent disposing of the dead body, covering up the death and cleaning and repairing the bedroom. Throughout, Peia shows little emotion. At one point Eric feels the need to comment.

"I thought you would be upset."

She had shrugged and responded, "People die. Don't mistake me for a champion of the human race."


	25. Chapter 25

**Chapter 25**

"Last night, you mentioned that Godric had few words to say about his Maker. What _did _he say?" Peia asks Eric after the body has been taken away and dealt with.

"That she abandoned him too quickly, like a discarded toy. He did not understand at the time what she wanted – what he had failed to give her," Eric replies.

"He was different with you?" Peia guesses.

"Yes." Eric says decisively, a warm smile emerging.

"I don't think I've seen him. In the visions."

"Shame. But what you saw was from my living mind – there were only a few seconds to recall."

It was never clear whether she would have seen more, had the drug not worn off. She thought about trying it sometime, though with some trepidation considering Eric's rather bloody history as a vampire.

Weeks pass, and the memory of their night with Mina dissipates too quickly. The eruptions of violence against humans have become more and more difficult to prevent and/or cover up. Eric and Bill have been working closely to hide the events from the AVL and investigate the source of them – who were these vampires who refused to even try to cover their violence? Unfortunately, too much time was spent putting out fires and too little on investigation, so their progress has been slow.

Peia, for her part, has been doing her job, as it is, to help prevent the violence and has developed a fairly keen sense of where to look and of whom to be suspicious. Eric has chastised her on more than one occasion for taking too many risks and showing, as he called it, 'unwarranted confidence'. He did not like how carelessly she seemed to minimize her own vulnerability – she was not invincible, not nearly. So why did she act so? The true answer was perhaps too distressing to contemplate, so he focused on the proximate one, making a point to catch her off-guard and physically illustrate her weaknesses. Humbling as it was to have Eric throw her against the wall and demonstrate how easily it would be to rip her head off, it also awakened a keen desire to avoid such demonstrations, leading to greater vigilance and tactical expertise. Which, in turn, elevated her confidence, much to Eric's chagrin. Still, she had been invaluable to the task at hand, putting a friendly human face on the battle against violence – an example of human-vampire cooperation, at least from an outsider's perspective.

Soon, however, the forces behind the violence began a campaign (or so it seemed) to paint Peia as a rogue vampire hunter in order to stir up discontent amongst the locals. Bill had come to Fangtasia to discuss this latest issue and what to do about it.

Entering Eric's office, Bill heaves a heavy sigh at the sight before him. Peia is on her knees, going to town on Eric's cock. They had actually toned it down, lately, what with all the chaos. Certainly in terms of intimacy during "business hours". But Peia had just witnessed Eric hand down some serious justice on a bunch of non-human trouble-makers and it had left her with a crazy intense desire to suck him off.

Eric is leaning back against his desk, his eyes half-closed, emitting the occasional soft, guttural whimper of approval. Seeing Bill, he turns his head,

"You have to let her finish. She is so fucking talented at this. Seriously, you cannot _pay_ for a blow job this good," Eric pleads.

At first, Bill just turns his head with an eye roll. But then his expression takes a more sinister turn as he pointedly glances back toward Peia's head bobbing up and down.

"Perhaps I would not _have_ to pay for a blow job that good."

Peia feels Eric tense. And other things lose their urgency. This is a game they play, Eric and Bill. Bill's way of taking revenge on all of Eric's threats to take Sookie away from him back before he became King. The situation is unclear now – Eric is older, but Bill has authority over him. Eric has always downplayed his feelings for Peia in front of Bill as a prophylactic against this kind of emotional blackmail. Like a game of chicken.

Peia pulls back and stands up, muttering, "way to kill the mood, my liege."

"Perhaps another time," Eric responds ambiguously.

Picking up on his lead, Peia responds, "Not going to happen. Eric likes to believe he can make me do stuff, but he really can't. I wouldn't recommend trying to force the issue," she says, clicking her teeth together. Eric gives her a subtle nod.

"In any case, we have some business to discuss," Bill says, shrugging off Peia's comment.

Peia moves to pick up her jacket on the table, saying "And that is my cue to leave. I am going to go masturbate now and just so we're clear, I won't be fantasizing about either of you."

"Peia, I would like you to stay," Bill insists.

With an "oh shit" expression, Peia glances over at Eric while setting her jacket back down on the desk.

"This isn't about the horse on the Langon Estate, is it? Because despite what ol' Lang says, I was NOT going to steal his horse. I just wanted to see if I could ride and carry my axe at the same time – just a little proof-of-principle thing. I was totally going to leave him in that field after," Peia blurts out nervously.

Smiling awkwardly, Bill responds, "not about a horse. Rather, there has been some talk amongst the vampire community, questioning Peia's purpose. Though I understand that most of the injuries and unfortunate deaths of non-humans were justified, many are worried that she has become a bit of a vigilante."

"So you would like her to do her job _less_ well?" Eric snides back.

"It is more about perception – they see her fighting vampires and they do not consider that she is acting in defense of the humans being attacked. Whoever is spreading this idea is alleging that protection is merely a excuse to perpetuate violence against them," Bill explains.

"What, like I hate all vampires? But that's ridiculous," Peia responds, frowning.

"Not necessarily to those who are not local to Shreveport or frequent visitors to Fangtasia. Sadly, they are playing on old fears – of Slayers and the like. It doesn't take more than a possible grain of truth stoke these fears," Bill explains.

"And we cannot afford more chaos," Eric adds, acknowledging the problem.

"I see this as just a PR problem. This is the Internet Age – we just need to advertise my true fang-banging nature. We should make a sex tape."

"A sex tape?" Bill repeats.

"I was referring to me and Eric, just to be clear. Yes, we make a tape, leak it to the internet and voila, everyone in our little sphere of influence knows we are together and I don't, therefore, hate vampires."

"I thought online amateur pornography was outlawed – the Indecency Act has been in place for years now," Bill counters.

"Trust me. I know places we could leak the video where it would be adequately circulated before being pulled for indecency. I can code it as text – I have permission to publish verbal smut. Usually throws the spybots off the trail for a few hours at least. And luckily, there are few videos and much demand," Peia argues.

"No objection from me," Bill responds.

"Better to just lay low for a while. I'll have Pam take over human protection," Eric responds.

"You're joking, right? _Pam_ on human protection?"

"Pam is perfectly competent."

"Competent, maybe, but her heart wouldn't exactly be in it."

"Then I can find someone else."

"Why don't you want to make a sex tape? You're not bashful," Peia asks, genuinely confused.

"Quite the opposite," Bill interjects.

"Everyone gets to see your hotness, exhibiting your considerable sexual prowess on someone like me. Everyone gets to see me thoroughly enjoying it, loving that vampire lovin'. It's win win."

"Sexual enjoyment does not necessarily preclude violent prejudice," Eric counters.

"Perhaps, but it would go quite a long way to convince the rather base-minded vampires out there," Bill offers.

"I do not think this will solve the problem," Eric says.

"But I don't see why we don't try – it is the lowest risk of any of the options," Peia pleads.

"No."

"What are you afraid of?" Peia asks.

In the brief pause that follows, Bill looks intently at Eric, then glances over at Peia. You can almost see the wheels turning in his mind as he considers what might make Eric hesitate to engage in this plan of action. Seeing this, Eric responds with utmost egoism.

"I did not wish to hurt your feelings, but as it is clear you will likely not let this go, I will state my objection. Although you have certain attributes, which are clear to me, that make our continued interactions pleasurable, others viewing such a tape would likely get the wrong idea. From a physical standpoint, you are not up to my usual standard and I would not want to give false hope."

Bill shakes his head in disbelief at Eric's unlimited ego.

"What? You are _embarrassed_ to be seen fucking me?" Peia says, voice incredulous.

"Not embarrassed. It is simply a practicality. I would not want Fangtasia to be inundated with a swath of sevens and eights, when I rarely settle for anything less than a ten. It would be disruptive."

With flared nostrils and wide eyes, Peia takes a couple of deep breaths before responding. She reaches for her jacket.

"Thanks for clearing that up. Now if you will excuse me, gentlemen, I am going to take this "7" to a gay bar, where I guarantee you, I will not pay for a drink all night. And Eric, don't wait up." Peia continues to mutter obscenities as she stomps out the door.

After she leaves, Bill turns to Eric.

"You know you will pay dearly for that?" Bill says with bemused sympathy.

Eric shrugs and with practiced indifference responds, "plenty of flesh in the sea."

Bill shakes his head. "Just take her off the streets until you come up with another plan. We cannot risk losing our local support."

Eric nods.

Bill quickly adds, as he heads toward the door, "I will be leaving town for a couple of weeks next month – hopefully less, but at the least, I must attend a regional AVL meeting in Savannah. I will be back in touch with detailed instructions for my absence."

As soon as Bill leaves, Eric sits down and rubs his eyes, letting his head rest in his hands for a moment. _How has it come to this?, _he wonders. He hates the thought that she is angry with him. More, he hates the thought of a lonely bed. Even for one day. But without her, the bed is lonely, no matter how many others are in it. All to save face with Bill. All to avoid anyone knowing the truth. Including Peia. _How to make it stop?_

A few hours later, Peia emerges from No Girls Allowed, pausing in a nearby alley to light a cigarette. After a moment, she says loudly,

"It's okay, Eric. I know you're there."

Eric jumps silently down from the top of the building. There is only one lesbian bar in Shreveport, so it is not a surprise that he was able to guess where she went. She looks at him a moment, sensing something different.

For the first time in recent memory, Eric had sought out a drunk to feed on. He wanted to increase the confusion in his head and perhaps cede some responsibility for his behavior. It did help a bit.

"So did you bring me a present?" Peia asks, almost playfully.

Eric shakes his head.

"Good. That means you didn't talk to Pam. Listen, I'm not mad. Not really. Honestly, I don't really fancy seeing myself having sex on video either. I'm just not used to such brutal honesty. I wasn't sure how to react. But I don't really care. It's all superficial shit anyway."

She says this mostly without looking at him, focusing more on the cigarette and giving him only passing glances. But when she is done speaking, she focuses on him, leaning back against the brick wall of the building, his head resting pathetically. He suddenly looks like a lost puppy. A lost, _anguished_ puppy.

"It was not honest." He forcibly pushes the words out like a confession. "I do not want anyone else to see you."

"Are you drunk?"

"I have had a drunk or two."

"Then don't say anymore. Lets go home."

Her heart is beating fast, the panic coming quickly. He doesn't move.

"I do not want anyone else to think of you that way. To see what I see. That is the truth."

Peia clenches her jaw as she attempts to convert her fear and panic into anger.

"You told me once you were not I interested in my love. Is that still true?"

The word crawls out from his throat, "No."

Her fists clench involuntarily.

"That is so much worse," she responds as she turns and walks quickly away.

By the time Eric makes his way back to the townhouse, Peia is already there. He skulks in to find her setting up a video camera in front of one of the couches in the livingroom. She looks up and gives him a weak smile.

"What is this?" He asks, his heart sinking, fearing she is planning on forcing the issue.

"I thought of a better way. Instead of filming us having sex, we are going to film us having an argument."

"An argument?" Eric responds, curious.

"A domestic sort of argument. The kind of argument that couples have all the time. About ridiculous things that everyone will instantly recognize as being an absolute indicator of a normal relationship."

"What do people in normal relationships argue about?"

"You know – you've watched enough television. We can just make it up as we go. I am happy to play the shrewish girlfriend. All the vampire guys out there will instantly empathize and we'll be in the clear."

"I can do that." Eric concludes with some relief. "So we pretend we are going to make a sex tape, but then start arguing and 'forget' to shut the video recorder off."

"Perfect."

"This could work."

"Ready?"

Eric flops down on the couch. Peia fiddles with the camera and sits back down. Commence scene. Eric leans over for a kiss, but after just a few seconds, drops his fangs and heads toward her neck. Peia pushes him away.

"What is the problem?" Eric says, acting annoyed.

"You went straight for the neck. What about foreplay? We were only kissing for a second."

Eric makes a point of rolling his eyes.

"Fine," he says as he pointedly slips his hand under her shirt.

"Not that kind of foreplay. Whisper sweet nothings in my ear."

"Seriously?"

"Come to think of it, I do not think you have ever once told me I looked beautiful. Or complimented me on my looks. Do you think I'm prettier than Pam?"

[It is getting difficult to say this without smiling.]

"That's my phone. Hold that thought." Looking at a blank screen (hidden from the camera) "I invited Isabel to join us – she says she could be here in ten minutes."

"Are you kidding me? Aren't I enough for you? Besides, I thought we agreed that if we had a threesome, it would be boy boy girl. And the other boy will be human. Because I like sweat."

"When did we decide this?"

"Remember, when you wanted to bite me "down there" and I said okay, but only if…"

"And what's to like about sweat? It smells."

"Are you saying I smell?"

"It wouldn't kill you to wear a bit more perfume."

"Oh, like that hoochie at the club you snack on when you think I'm not watching? Don't think I don't smell her on you."

"It's only about the blood with her, you know that."

"Maybe. But I think we should be monogamous. With sex _and_ biting."

"But I get so hungry."

"I'm right here, big boy. If you want it regular, you gotta put a ring on it."

Etc. etc. etc.

Heh.


	26. Chapter 26

**Chapter 26**

Peia was looking forward to her writing session at Merlotte's. She found the bustle and noise of the Saturday night crowd soothing, so long as she had her booth at the back. Somehow the surrounding roar focused her mind. She'd had to bargain to keep her booth at such a busy time – compensating Sam for the space. He didn't argue for much, as he knew she would drink a bit and even grab a bite and in the end, stay until closing time as she had done in the past. What she didn't know is that Sam had begun to use her presence as a selling point. With the continued violence toward humans erupting regularly around the region, Peia's presence meant some degree of protection for his patrons. So what's the harm in letting it drop in conversation here and there when she was likely in for the night? He stopped short of making flyers, taking Sookie's advice that she might look unkindly at such blatant advertising. It was supposed to be her night off, after all.

Bill was out of town on vampire business and so Eric had been particularly distracted with the minutia of maintaining the front of power and normalcy. Peia didn't mind the lack of attention and took the opportunity to indulge her hobby. She had gotten deep enough into her current story that she made arrangements to spend the weekend at Sookie's. Eric was far from pleased to have her away from his bed for multiple days, but had learned to appease her panic by loosening his grip. Since his drunken confession, Peia had become more distant. Not cold – nothing so extreme. Just careful. Or care_less_ when it was important to subtly discourage him. She did this with intention, but not malice. Whenever guilt or doubt began its inward seep, she would remind herself that she didn't sign up for this – this wasn't what was promised.

Peia's heart pounded as her fingers tapped furiously on the keyboard of her laptop. There was a wildness in her eyes that was enough to clue most folks to stay away. Sookie always kept her distance when she got that look, as the flood of thoughts emanating would quickly break the barrier she erected to block the sound of other minds. So intense was Peia's focus, that she failed to notice the approach of a man who had entered the bar moments before and after a brief scan, made a direct line to her booth. He was rather large and churlish like a bear, but the way he moved through the crowd showed an inner stealth that was incongruous. Without a word, he slid into the booth across from Peia.

It wasn't until he spoke that she acknowledged his presence. Until then, she refused to accept the reality of him.

In a rather sinister, foreign sounding voice, infused with a low chuckle, he said, "So you are the hybrid."

With a sigh, Peia looks up while continuing to type.

"It's my day off," she states, intentionally not responding to his statement. She looks back down at the screen of her laptop.

"We are quite curious about you."

Still not looking up, "Is that the royal 'we'?"

"Perhaps. I simply seek an audience. I have traveled quite a distance."

"Sorry to disappoint, but I'm just a girl," she nearly pouts.

"Is that so? Word around here is that you are a Deputy."

"Nope. Sheriff Bud is at table in the far corner if you want to ask him. Now if you'll excuse me…"

"_Humans. _Hardly", he responds with dismissive disgust. "They come because you are here. They come to feel safe. It is known, this."

"It's my day off," she repeats, a growing irritation in her tone.

"Answer my questions and I will be on my way."

"No thank you."

Peia was beginning to suspect that this was no random vampire looking to test his skills. She had been warned repeatedly not to engage with out-of-towners. Her unique abilities were known locally, but the AVL was vigilant about insisting her origins remain a mystery. And the less others new about her strength, the better.

"Perhaps I am growing a bit peckish," he growls threateningly, turning his head to scan the room. "How quick are you?"

"Listen, I don't want any trouble," she says as she calculates how long a disruption each potential scenario might entail. "I work for the Sheriff, Eric Northman. Not a Deputy, because I'm not a vampire. But it truly _is_ my day off so if you've got business to discuss…"

"Oh, it is most definitely you I have come to see. But, of course, you don't just work for Eric, now do you?"

"Oops, you caught me. I fuck him, too. I am a fang-banger, but don't get any ideas – he's the possessive type. Are we done?"

Without waiting for a response, she looks back down to her laptop and starts typing again.

"Are there more like you?"

"Fang-bangers? Sure. I'd set you up, but you're not nearly attractive enough for any of my friends."

"_Hybrids_," he repeats, as if she hadn't understood the question.

She rolls her eyes and shakes her head dismissively, still focused on her laptop. Still not looking up, "Like I said before, I'm just a girl…who knows how to handle some silver."

"Are you connected? Can he summon you?"

She ignores him completely.

"How were you _made_? Are you immortal?"

Peia continues to give no response.

The stranger becomes visibly agitated at her lack of attention and in a swift motion with his clenched fist, slaps the lid of her laptop shut, crushing the base in the process.

"Holy Shit," Peia exclaims as she leaps to her feet, genuinely surprised. "I can't believe you just did that," she gasps. Then, after a second, her eyes darken, "I CANNOT BELIEVE YOU JUST DID THAT."

In a moment, she whips out a silver chain, expertly tosses it around his neck and proceeds to drag him out of the bar. Once outside, the stranger, seemingly unaffected by the silver itself fights back, rather clumsily. Peia is angry and kicks his ass more than is necessary. Laying on his back, the man says nothing as Peia swings a shovel. She catches herself at the last minute and instead of crushing his skull with it, she guides it to hit the ground next to him. In frustration, she just kicks some dirt at his face, "It's my day off!"

A creepy smile erupts on the stranger's face. Before her eyes, he morphs first into a woman, then to a snake and slithers away into the bushes.

"Shit."

Peia reaches for her phone and calls Eric. Getting voicemail, she leaves a message,

"I think I may have messed up. Call me."

She rubs her eyes and then strides back into Merlott's. She walks back to her crushed computer, downs her drink and packs up to leave. Too late to find a computer tech service to see what can be salvaged from the machine, so she will go back to Sookie's and head into town in the morning.

_**Author's Note: That is as far as I got before taking a break. Since I abandoned this WIP last year, I have had a few readers contact me, looking for resolution. In truth, I will not be able to continue on as I had done, because there would likely be another 10 to 15 chapters minimum to get through the rest of the plot adequately. So what I thought I would do in order to give myself and others some closure, is to type up a plot synopsis. Because I love dialog so much, I may insert a few key lines or mini-scenes. But other than that, I am going to just summarize what happens in the rest of the story. Hopefully I will have that written soon-ish. Thanks for reading!**_


	27. Chapter 27

**PLOT SYNOPSIS (Post Chapter 26)**

_**Author's note: As I cannot promise to write out the rest of this story properly due to unavoidable time constraints, I have decided to at least give you the rest of the basic storyline to satisfy your curiosity. Seriously, no fancy language here or the kind of fun embellishments and character study/development that I enjoy writing. Just the main facts. And a few "mini-scenes" or dialog snippets where I couldn't resist. **_

_***Also, as I stopped watching the HBO series after Season 4 (and having never read the books), any resemblance in plot to the show is completely coincidental! **_

As it happens, the stranger at Merlott's is a shifter who works for the King of California, Lamar. Oh, and her true human form is a blonde woman named Jodie. She reports back to the King and a couple of his sheriffs & deputies who have traveled there to get information on Peia and Eric. They end up kidnapping Eric (and then Pam incidentally). Things don't go well. They insist that Eric summon Peia. He refuses and denies it is possible. They torture him. While Peia is at Sookie's dealing with her smashed computer, she gets confusing messages from Eric that essentially tell her to stay away, but in a strong enough way that it feels like he is rejecting her. Plus, she is reacting to his pain, though she doesn't actually know that is what she is experiencing. She just cries and lays in bed. This goes on for days. Sookie gets flashes of what Peia is experiencing and decides to snoop around Fangtasia during the day to see what is going on. Eventually she snaps Peia out of it and they come up with a plan to rescue Eric and Pam (it involves Peia pretending to be Sookie and it is hysterical!). When she finds Eric and Pam during the daytime rescue, they are in terrible shape – especially Eric who looks almost unrecognizable. She loads them into body bags and puts them in the back of a truck and drives off, heading for Texas to find Isabel and plea for help from the King of Texas. On the way, they find the shifter Jodie had stowed away in the truck as a snake – it bites Peia before she is able to toss it out.

They arrive at Isabel's at dusk and Peia begs for help, worried that Eric could die (he looks like a charred corpse). They are permitted inside. Peia tries to give some blood to Eric, but she is feeling sick from having been awake for many days straight, plus the snakebite and she insists they find a human to feed him. They do and he eventually starts to look like himself again. Once he is lucid, Peia goes to him, crying, saying she is sorry (both for not rescuing him sooner and for holding back her feelings for him). He tells her he is proud of her; that she did exactly the right thing. She tells him she loves him. When she goes to have a rest, Eric and Isabel go outside onto the balcony to have a conversation.

"A human, eh? Would never have thought it possible," Isabel says with a perplexed smirk.

"It was not my intention," Eric responds.

"So the rumors are true. Couldn't quite get the job done, eh? I would say it happens to all vampires, but I'd be lying," she says with a playful grin.

"Impotence jokes. How original," he says.

"What else is there to say when the mighty Eric Northman is felled by his pet," she answers, half joking.

His body noticeably tenses. "You of all people…" he spits.

Surprised by Eric's reaction, Isobel turns to him and says with surprise, "You love her."

"How do you stop wanting to lock them in a room to which only you have a key?" Eric asks.

"Are you afraid something will happen to her or that she'll run away?" Isabel asks.

Not answering Eric stammers, "I am…_unaccustomed_ to these feelings. It is unnerving."

"I _know_," she answers softly, putting her hand on his shoulder.

"Why is there this need to know they feel the same? Why does the thought eat away?" He asks.

"Are you not satisfied with her declaration earlier?" Isobel responds.

"I know that I should be. I have waited patiently. But now all I feel is doubt. She is loyal like a dog."

"It didn't sound like loyalty to me," she assures.

"It is complicated by the blood bond," Eric replies.

Isabel shrugs. "So release her."

"I cannot," he dismisses after a brief consideration.

"Well, then. Welcome to the club. It's a fucking party," she says through straight lips.

Later, after both Pam and Eric are mostly recovered from their ordeal, they (other local sheriffs join in) all discuss the situation. They conclude that the King of California is attempting to take advantage of the turmoil surrounding the death of both Sophie Ann and Russell Edgington and the disgruntlement amongst the Old Ones over the installment of Bill as King in their place, to spread his kingdom westward in defiance of the AVL. He is "old school" in the sense of having no interest in becoming part of human society. Instead, he has been making alliances with other non-humans (werewolves, shifters, etc.) with the ultimate goal of seizing power and being free to exercise that power over the human population. He is interested in Peia because he would like to build an army of soldiers with her as a template – with the strength of vampires and none of the vulnerabilities, along with the control and communication that comes with the blood bond. Eric knows that it is not possible to duplicate Peia's situation, so they don't truly fear this possibility. Still, there is a real worry that if Lamar were to convince enough of the vampire monarchs to join him against the AVL, it could lead to a civil war. Which would be bad, bad, bad.

The discussion turns to ways to appease the older monarchs to keep them from joining Lamar. Peia asks if they might prefer Eric to Bill, as he is older. Maybe, but they have old ideas about regal succession and would object to anyone being put on the throne without some pre-established right to it. Peia contacts Dali to ask if there are any surviving "relatives" of either Sophie Ann or Russell. They find mention of a vampire named Helena, who shares a Maker with Sophie Anne. Peia suggests that Eric should marry her and become king. They scoff because 1) no one has seen her in a hundred of years or more, 2) she is thought to be severely mentally damaged (which is one reason why she was never considered for the throne in the first place), 3) how could they even get her to agree to such a plan if they found her, and 4) even if they were successful, they would need the AVL (& hopefully the Authority) to sanction it. Peia tells them they should learn to channel their inner Richard III and that she is confident that Eric is capable of seducing _anyone_.

With Dali's help, they find Helena, who is impossibly beautiful (much to Peia's dismay), but completely lobotomized and seemingly incapable of higher thought. Still, everything goes to plan and Eric marries her, they get the provisional support of the AVL & The Authority (after the threat of Lamar is made clear). As many of Lamar's potential allies are appeased by this seemingly legitimate regime change and withdraw their support, he officially challenges the union of Eric and Helena and the relevant powers send spies into the Kingdom.

Eric makes Peia the Captain of the Guard and they set up a slightly more traditionally fortified home base/"Castle", expecting an eventual attack from Lamar and his supporters. The Magister assigns an advisor/spy, whose job it is to determine the legitimacy of the union between Helena and Eric. Because of this, Peia and Eric must pretend they are not romantically involved and they no longer share a bed. Distress ensues. When a royal advisor makes a pass at Peia, she instinctively rebuffs him (and thinks it is Eric testing her). But when she confronts Eric, he is sure this means he is the spy and will take her refusal to be a sign that Peia and Eric are still together. So they hatch a plan for Peia to start obviously dating someone else – Alcide is the obvious choice, as he has become a member of the guards/security team. He is not "in on it" = more distress for EVERYONE.

In non-relationship news, Peia becomes a liaison between Eric and the local human government. The humans feel increasingly threatened at the thought of vampires like Lamar striking out, so they make a deal with Eric for protection (in exchange for legitimacy, money and silver). There is lots of discussion amongst the AVL & supporters to tread lightly, as it is discovered that the human government has started to stockpile silver in preparation for any potential vampire attacks.

Also, with encouragement from the remnants of the Sunnydale contingent, Spike takes over for Eric as Sheriff in Shreveport. They realize the importance of Eric's Kingdom in the ultimate safety of the human population.

Pam fully enjoys being a princess, as she would.

The fake relationship with Alcide works a treat and after the mandatory three -month investigation, Lamar is thwarted and the Magister upholds the legitimacy of Queen Helena and King Eric, ruling over Louisiana & Mississippi. An infuriated Lamar goes back to California and continues to plan his invasion.

Eric and Peia have a delightful reunion, he gives her a gorgeous diamond necklace and they stay in bed for a couple of days. She remains as Captain of the Guard, but moves back in with Eric (and Helena).

At some point during their fun days in bed, Peia unceremoniously dumps Alcide (not in person, obviously), though she makes Eric promise not to kill him, going as far to say that she will leave if Alcide turns up dead. Note that Alcide was not particularly "in love" with her, but it was still a bit of a blow. [_Sidebar: Alcide does turn up dead sometime later; Peia runs away to Alaska (in summer, when it is always light), but comes back realizing she no longer has the strength to live without Eric and therefore, she no longer has the upper hand in the relationship and the moral high ground that comes with it. There is a sweet scene where Eric, after discovering that Peia is gone and the reason why, is discovered by Pam in their home theatre, watching the film, "Let Me In" over and over, since Peia had recently bought the DVD. It turns out that Eric was not involved in Alcide's death and, in fact, it was Lamar's doing to drive a wedge between them_. _Though Peia says he doesn't need to, Eric is able to prove this to her_.]

Attacks on humans continue and Eric increases the size of his Guard to provide protection and also prepare for an attack from Lamar. He also attempts to fortify alliances with neighboring Kings and Queens. He grows into a very effective King.

In the midst of the chaos, Peia suddenly lapses into a severe PTSD fugue after being told by a doctor that she is pregnant. As her reproductive organs had been removed while she was in a coma, she cannot fathom how this could happen. But before she can think rationally about the situation, she loses touch with reality and disappears. Eric freaks out. She eventually turns up in Bon Tempts, perhaps subconsciously looking for Terry. When Eric arrives at Merlott's (where Sookie and Terry and the rest have brought her), she is curled up in a ball, unable to move or perceive anyone around her. Sookie helps Eric pull her out of it, allowing Sookie to both see the horrible events that led to Peia's PTSD and also the old childhood memory from Eric that eventually calms her down. Eric takes her straight to Fangtasia, where the summoned Dr. Ludwig is waiting. Although she is mentally aware, Peia is physically in bad pretty bad shape (days without eating or drinking, muscle lockage/tension, etc.). Sookie agrees to meet them a bit later with food.

While treating her, Dr. Ludwig lets it slip that Peia is pregnant. While Eric starts to lose it, Peia asks Dr. Ludwig to make some calls and research if there have been other vampire pregnancies. Eric visibly scoffs and orders Dr. Ludwig out of the room. He becomes completely overwhelmed with jealousy and anger and starts ranting, flipping between English and Swedish. Peia is too tired to defend herself. He grabs her by the hair and drags her to the ground. Before he can do anything else, Sookie arrives and does her best to calm him down. He orders Sookie to read Peia's mind and tell him who the father is (though of course he suspects Alcide). Sookie tells him the only thing she can get from Peia is her horror of how Eric will feel if he kills her – her concern for him. Eric starts randomly breaking things as he tries to regain control.

Dr. Ludwig returns with just some anecdotal evidence from California – a rumor – of a human baby born from a vampire; the only other detail is that prior to the birth, the mother began to take on the nature of the baby. In that case, she went from being a totally badass bitch to showing human-like emotions. She admits that most such rumors turn out to not be true, but she leaves promising to follow up on it. Peia and Sookie exchange a few words; Sookie brings out the food she has brought – a steak and fries. As she unpacks it, not realizing that Sam had packed a steak knife in the bag with the food, she cuts her finger. Eric instinctually turns toward the blood – he notices that Peia does, too. He also recognizes the look of longing in her eyes as she stares at Sookie blotting the blood with her napkin. When Sookie passes the plate to Peia, he notices how she first sucks the piece of steak she puts in her mouth before chewing it. Peia abruptly looks up at Eric, feeling his anger subside. Sookie hears Peia think, "Oh, thank the gods." And asks, "What?"

Peia shakes her head and asks, "So where is the nearest abortion clinic?"

"Aw, hon, this is Louisiana. It aint going to be easy," Sookie responds.

"That will be unnecessary," Eric intercedes.

Peia counters, "Of course it's necessary. Did you not see what just happened? I _cannot_…"

"But that was before," Eric interrupts.

"Relax with the paternal pride a moment. Based on what I know of your human adventures, I imagine there are plenty of Northman descendants roaming the globe. You Vikings tended to impregnate everyone in your path," Peia says lightly.

"Bastards, all," Eric shrugs, undeterred.

"And how exactly would this one _not_ be a bastard? Last time I checked, you were married to someone else," Peia answers with just a hint of bitterness.

Sookie suddenly frowns, just catching up with the conversation. "Wait, since when can vampires get someone pregnant?"

Ignoring her, Peia and Eric argue some more. She is absolutely terrified at the thought of being a mother again and over the course of the conversation, despite the tranquilizers that Dr. Ludwig gave her, she starts to regress back to her PTSD state. This time, Eric gives her some blood by biting his own tongue and then kissing her. She instantly calms down. In the end, after more lengthy discussion, Eric convinces her to keep it.

Fearing how a vampire/hybrid baby might be perceived (by the public, the AVL, TPTB), they settle on a story that Peia was desperate for a child and Eric decided to indulge her by allowing her to be inseminated. They are able to keep this secret for most of the pregnancy, avoiding all medical attention beyond the occasional check-up from Dr. Ludwig. Peia craves/needs to drink blood from Eric (or possibly any vampire) to maintain the pregnancy, else she quickly falls ill.

Spike and Peia have maintained a platonic friendship over this time. He is the first to discover the truth about the baby (a lovely scene at a Halloween party where Eric and Helena dress up as Julius Caesar and Calpurnia with Peia as a very pregnant Cleopatra). Peia makes Spike promise to take care of the baby if she is dies in childbirth – her rationale is that Eric would be too overwhelmed with grief and anger to be a father in that scenario, at least initially. Spike reluctantly agrees.

A month or so before Peia is due, the news of the "miracle baby"/"Abomination" becomes widely known. This causes a huge surge in the pro-vampire/human cooperation/coexistence movement and a blow to Lamar's faction. Lamar and others on his side feel that the birth of the baby will be a death blow to their movement, so they step up their attacks and make numerous attempts on Peia's life. Eventually it becomes too dangerous for Peia to remain at the palace, so Eric sends her into hiding with Spike and the shifter, Jodie (who, I forgot to mention, defected from Lamar to Eric a while back and has become Peia's personal guard). Before she leaves, Eric strong-arms his human government contacts to allow vampire/human marriages in the state and subsequently marries Peia (despite still being married to Helena – his rationale is that vampire/vampire marriages are not officially recognized by the human government, so its not technically polygamy).

After some adventures on the road with Spike and Jodie, Peia goes into labor, and with the help of a somewhat terrified off-duty doctor, the babies are born. Yes, there are two. Only one has a heartbeat (the boy), so the other was never detected (the girl). That said, the boy is mostly human (but not entirely) and the girl is mostly (but not entirely) vampire. Peia's breastmilk is a unique mixture of blood and milk, such that only she can feed them. Oh, and Spike and Jodie are totally getting it on.

Lots of rejoicing ensues, from humans and vampires alike. The birth of the babies is seen as a symbol/omen of the ultimate destiny of unification between vampires and humans. La la la. Lamar's men retreat in the face of increased support of the faction supporting Eric and Peia returns to the palace with the babies. The humans are fascinated by this new "Vampire Royal Family" and they get lots of media attention and support.

Then one night, Peia and Eric awake to discover Helena (who had, rather inexplicably, started to dote on the infants. _There is more to Helena's story, but no time to elaborate now_) as a pile of goo by the crib, killed by Mina who has stolen away the girl, leaving the boy behind. They go after her and upon confrontation, she explains that _she_ is the reason the babies exist in the first place. She performed the spell that made it possible for Eric to impregnate Peia on the night they shared a bed. Therefore, since it worked, she is owed a baby. Mina admits she was surprised the spell had worked so well, as she had tried and failed many times before. Likely, Peia's state as a hybrid was the key. The second baby – the boy – was not planned as part of the spell and she has no interest in a human baby, so they can keep him. But she demands the girl. Eric actually considers agreeing – why do we need more than one? In the end, Peia stays with Mina and the babies, as she is the only one who can feed them. They bide their time and eventually come up with a plan to get rid of Mina and take both babies home. It is creative and awesome and it works and they do.

Peia officially becomes Queen. The children grow up – the girl thrives mostly on vampire blood, but can consume human blood as well. The boy chooses to live as a human and refuses to drink blood. Various complicated family dynamics ensue. Eric's influence spreads to the East and North and he becomes protector for much of the eastern seaboard. Lamar continues to have a stronghold in the states west of Louisiana, eventually replacing the King of Texas with one of his own supporters. The country balances lightly on the edge of a vampire civil war, but the peace is predominately maintained by Eric and his supporters.

_And they lived happily ever after._ _OR_…

Upon reaching adulthood, the daughter stops aging, but the son does not. At the age of 65, he develops an untreatable cancer that even vampire blood cannot cure. Within two years, he dies. His sister is inconsolable and wanders into enemy territory and deliberately picks a fight, getting herself killed. Eric does not have the emotional capacity to handle the loss and essentially starts an all-out war with Lamar out of misplaced anger and grief. Peia supports him, but sees it will end badly. It does. The AVL pulls its support. Peia, having refused their offer to make her Queen regent (after stripping Eric of his authority as King), fights with him to the end as the AVL forcibly takes the throne.

Still, they had a good run. And maybe they were rescued at the very last minute by an alien? [_cue Doctor Who music_]

**The End.**

_Author's note: I never named the twins. Any thoughts? Suggestions gladly accepted (marksandspence ). Also, eesh, there is so much more! So many details! So many secondary events! But this will have to work as a placeholder until I have the time to elaborate. Thanks for reading._


End file.
